Last of the Noldor
by Aradiuth
Summary: After ages spent skirting the shores of the sea, Maglor recalls his oath when an object altogether too familiar to him washes up at his feet. When things begin to stir in Arda again, Maglor decides he has languished long enough. He is last of the sons of Fëanor, the last who can fulfill his oath. Maglor casts aside his harp and takes up his sword once more. Silmarillion 3rd Age AU
1. Chapter 1: The Fire of Feanor Wakes

Full summary: After ages spent skirting the shores of the sea, Maglor recalls his oath when an object altogether too familiar to him washes up at his feet. When things begin to stir in Arda again, Maglor decides he has languished long enough. He is the last of the sons of Fëanor, the last who can fulfill his oath. Maglor puts aside his harp and takes up his sword once more.

Chapter 1: The Fire of Feanor Wakes

The dawn found me on my feet, leaving footprints in the sand and listening to the music of the waves, singing softly to accompany them. I let my fingers glide over the strings of my harp almost idly, caressing them rather than really playing. It was a crisp morning with cold light - a morning for doing. But I had nothing to do. I was alone and damned.

I planted my feet in the sand and faced east to watch the sunrise. The tide was steadily getting higher. Water lapped at my high boots, and I let it. Lowering my head, I watched my own fingers pluck at the strings, the background of sand below…

I stilled even before I knew why. But then my focus unwillingly shifted from my harp to the sands, where something was buried, only partially covered by the dirt. It seemed to glow with its own light - or was it just the sun, reflected in its whiteness?

I knelt to brush it off for a better look, but my instincts got the better of me. As a wave swooped in, threatening to carry it off, my hand shot out, scooping it out of the sand, and I hurled it far away from the sea.

As soon as I had recovered from my surprise at my own actions, I immediately hurried after it, hurling my harp aside in my haste. I hardly recognized myself. My heart beat furiously, with a fervor that seemed distantly familiar, and suddenly the morning was almost too hot for comfort.

Then it lay at my feet, safely away from the waves that would devour it, and I had to stop to think. I could not pick it up, for I knew it would burn me as it had so many years ago. _Ages_, I knew, though it was hard to keep track when all I had was the rising and setting of the sun and the changing of the land. I would do better to throw it back from whence it had come.

Yet I hesitated. These things did not happen as accidents. Ulmo was master of the sea; was this, then. a message? I steeled myself and knelt, teeth gritted in anticipation. I let my fingers brush the flawless surface.

The light of the Silmaril shone through my flesh as it suffered my caress. In wonder, I let my hand wrap around it. It was even more beautiful, more perfect, though still covered with specks of dirt, than I remembered. I could almost recognize my father in the contours of the jewel, in the smooth surfaces, in its soft light.

_The light of the Trees…_

"So, now you suffer my touch," I mused aloud. "And why is that, I wonder? What changed, O gem of my father's making? Not I - I am still Kanafinwë Fëanorian." I waited, but the Silmaril did not burn me.

"Very well," I murmured. Marveling at the jewel's beauty I was reminded of my oath. Now the light of the Silmaril reminded me of that fateful night, the torches blazing bright in the dark of the night in Tirion. How very long ago it was…

_"We have sworn, and not lightly,"_ my father had said. Once the Fëanorian fire had possessed me, too, had driven me, had given me strength. But I was so tired. I was always tired now. How could I not be, after all that had happened? _Noldolantë_ was not a happy song (and the Noldor _had_ fallen, beyond any hope of getting up again), nor did any joy touch my spirit now.

And yet, as the light of the Silmaril shone, I felt something within me spark, igniting as if in answer to the call of the jewel. Had I not sworn in Tirion? Were my father's jewels not rightfully mine? Did I not owe it to my father and my brothers to avenge them and make sure their deaths were not in vain? I was the last of the House of Fëanor, and the Silmaril suffered my touch. If I was looking for a sign, I doubted I would ever find a clearer one.

I looked at my cast-off harp and felt my resolve harden. I took the Silmaril in my left hand and with my right I drew my sword, and holding it aloft I cried:

"_Be he foe or friend, be he foul or clean,  
__Brood of Morgoth or bright Vala,  
__Elda or Maia or Aftercomer,  
__Man yet unborn upon Middle-earth,  
__Neither law, nor love, nor league of swords,  
__Dread nor danger, not Doom itself  
__Shall defend him from Fëan__áro, and __Fëan__áro's kin,  
__Whoso hideth or hoardeth, or in hand taketh,  
__Finding keepeth or afar casteth  
__A Silmaril. This swear we all…  
__Death we deal him ere Day's ending,  
__Woe unto world's end! Our word hear thou,  
__Eru Allfather! To the everlasting  
__Darkness doom us if our deed faileth…  
__On the holy mountain hear in witness  
__and our vow remember,  
__Manw__ë and Varda!"_

I had a long road ahead. I turned east, and my stride had renewed purpose in it. Maglor son of Fëanor had once more something to live for. My father's fire had woken within me, and woe to those who tried to keep the other two Silmarils away from me.

I left the harp upon the sand.

Next: Chapter 2: The Minstrel's Road


	2. Chapter 2: The Minstrel's Road

Chapter 2: The Minstrel's Road

Something seemed to guide my feet, for it was not even three days before I found a great road leading east. I did not intend to take it, but it was useful to follow at a distance anyway. I spent the next two days in solitude, following the road in the concealment of the forest. Occasionally I heard sounds suggesting that other travelers were not far-off, but not until my third day by the road did I have cause to confront them.

It was almost dusk when I heard it. _A Elbereth! Gilthoniel!_ they sang, fair elf-voices approaching from the east. I wondered, and I thought swiftly but hard. I reached a decision and stepped onto the road, making thrice sure the Silmaril was concealed and my sword sheathed.

_"Ai! Mellon!"_ they called to me and, for the first time in what felt like half of eternity, I felt a smile curve my lips. I could only imagine what I looked like after so long in exile, but though these were no noble Noldor, these Moriquendi were still my kin.

_"Mae govannen!"_ said one in front to me when we had drawn close enough to each other to address in normal tones. "Where go you, friend and kin?"

"I know not, myself," I said, hoping my words were correct. The dialect had changed somewhat over the years. "I would seek counsel with one I know."

"If it is counsel you seek, there is none better to seek it with than our lord, Elrond of Imladris," I was told.

I let myself laugh aloud, so relieved was I to hear that familiar name. I wondered if my old charge would recognize me. "That is a welcome name to hear," I confessed to my bemused but agreeable new friends. "Will this road lead me to Imladris?"

"The East-West Road will lead you to the Homely House of Elrond!" said the elves. "It is from there that we come! But what is your name, friend of Elrond?"

"Nyello I am called, for singer and minstrel I am!"

Elrond's elves and I parted ways after exchanging cordial farewells, and I retired to the woods once more. I had no more desire to have my presence questioned, and I had much to think about as I resolved to continue on through the night, now with a destination in mind.

So, Elrond was alive and still in Arda. I knew, then, that I had at least one friend yet in this land. As the light faded, I glanced up at the stars that flickered in between the branches and leaves of the trees.

"A Elbereth! Gilthoniel!" I sang softly. "Let your stars illuminate my road, Varda!" The smile did not quite fade from my lips, nor the warm feeling inside me, for the rest of the night.

Next: Chapter 3: The Silmaril Comes To Rivendell


	3. Chapter3:The Silmaril Comes to Rivendell

Chapter 3: The Silmaril Comes To Rivendell

_Imladris_ was the home of Elrond called, and it was clear to me why it was so named. The houses were nestled in a deep valley, near a waterfall and above a river. It was the most welcome sight I had seen in ages. I let myself soak in the sound of burbling water and light elven voices carried by the breeze before beginning my descent down into the valley.

Upon passing the bridge and entering Elrond's settlement, I was greeted by an elf who named himself Lindir.

"Well met, Lindir. I am called Nyello and am an old friend of Lord Elrond. May I see him?"

Lindir's grimace was almost veiled. Almost. "I would be happy to take you to Lord Elrond, friend, for any friend of Lord Elrond's is a friend of all elves of Imladris. But my lord is...little disposed to see guests today. We have had a...number of...interesting guests today."

"Lord Elrond will see me," I said confidently.

Lindir bowed his head and bade me follow him. I did so, and thus was taken to the study of the Lord of Imladris.

"Lord Elrond. An old friend is here to see you. His name is Nyello." With those words, Lindir bowed out of the room and I was left alone with Elrond.

The Lord of Imladris turned from his position facing his table to appraise me. His brows, already furrowed with care, furrowed slightly more as he tried to place me. Elrond, I saw, had changed much over the years, but he was as recognizable to me as the jewel that currently hung from my belt.

I cocked my head to one side and regarded him half-playfully. "Have you grown, _henig nin_? I could have sworn you were shorter before I left."

Elrond's eyes widened. "_Ada_?" he whispered incredulously.

"And so the son I raised is now a lord of elves," I said, smiling. "I would have expected nothing less."

"Impossible." Elrond seemed quite unable to wrap his head around the fact of my presence. Frankly, I could hardly believe it myself. I - we all thought you lost forever."

I nodded slowly. "I was lost. But -" _then I found a Silmaril_ "-I found myself again."

Elrond called for food and drink to be brought and we spent the next hour sitting in his study, talking. I mostly listened to my foster son tell of what had happened since the War of Wrath, since I had spent all that time in exile by the sea. I did not speak of the Silmaril; that secret was mine to keep, until the time was right.

After a time, I recalled my somewhat harried reception in the valley. "The elf who brought me to you, Lindir, said that you were busy today. You have guests, Elrond?"

A look of mild annoyance and stress crossed the face of my companion and friend. "Indeed, thirteen dwarves and a hobbit. And Mithrandir, as we know him now, or Olorin, as he was called in Valinor."

"He is one of the Istari."

"Yes. They were all traveling together on the Great East Road when they were attacked by Orcs. Luckily for them, I was able to drive them off. Strange, though, that Orcs would venture so close to the borders of the Hidden Vale."

"Strange, too, that one of the Istari would be traveling with thirteen dwarves and - what did you say the other was?"

Elrond smiled. "A hobbit. An unadventurous, discreet people. I cannot hazard a guess as to what one is doing in the company of thirteen dwarves."

I smiled, too. "You must see to your guests, then. No doubt it is almost time for dinner."

"You are welcome to join us, of course, if you wish."

"No, I have eaten quite enough already. I would visit your library, however."

"I will show you to it personally." Elrond's worries seemed to have melted away as he looked at me. "_Ada_, your coming took me entirely by surprise, but it is the best surprise I could ever have hoped for. Later, I will ask you to recount your own story, for we have spent many long years apart."

"My story is full of wasted days and sad songs sung to the deaf sea," I told him with a laugh. "There is not much to tell."

"And so Maglor the mighty singer has come to Rivendell! You will stay here for some time, I hope?"

"Some time," I said, "but not too long. The road will begin to call to me again sooner rather than late, I think."

Something flickered in Elrond's eyes as he appraised me, and I struggled to place it. _Surprise? Suspicion? Sadness?_ But it went as swiftly as it had come. As I followed him through the halls, I brushed my hand across the pouch that hung from my belt, to reassure myself of the presence of the jewel there. I would have to study recent history very thoroughly, more thoroughly than Elrond could tell me, if I was to have any hope of recovering its twins.

Next: Chapter 4: A Dream Of Maedhros


	4. Chapter 4: A Dream of Maedhros

Chapter 4: A Dream Of Maedhros

Within the walls of Elrond's library I buried myself in books, scrolls, and knowledge, throwing myself into my studies. I lost sense of time - no new or strange feeling - as I devoured book after book, scroll after scroll, lay after lay. I learned much of what had befallen Arda since the War of Wrath, more than Elrond had told me, and I remembered much also. I read every word of _The Lay of Leithian_, a story I had not followed carefully, of which I had heard only later from Celegorm and Curufin, and my recollections were a mix of nostalgia and grief.

The first and only person to disturb me was Elrond, when he came and announced that it was midmorning, much to my surprise.

"What, midmorning already?"

"Have you been here all night?"

"I have not moved since you showed me this room."

Elrond shook his head. "I sent someone to find you, but - well, it makes no matter."

"What was it?"

"I am come from a meeting of the White Council, comprised of Olorin, Curumo, Lady Galadriel, and myself."

"Galadriel," I said softly to myself. "Artanis."

"Olorin brought to the council a Morgul blade, of the kind that the Witch-king of Angmar, Sauron's most feared servant, wielded. He believes The Enemy has risen again."

"And what do you believe?"

Elrond shook his head. "I do not know. We have had peace for so long, and yet…"

"And your dwarves? What of them?"

"They have gone. They are led by Thorin son of Thrain, who seeks to take back their homeland of Erebor."

I recalled something I had read. "The Lonely Mountain. It was taken by the dragon Smaug."

"So this is what you have been doing in here - learning what you have missed!" Elrond smiled. "And it is much, is it not?"

"It is," I allowed, "but I have ever been an avid reader."

"You will be well versed in current events in no time," he agreed. "What would you do today?"

"If you have no objection, I will stay here. There are many tomes still untouched by me."

"No one will disturb you. _Ada_," Elrond said after a slight hesitation, but with a smile, "I am glad you're back."

I returned the smile. "As am I."

I continued my studies, but it did not take me long to notice that my page turns had become less frequent, and the words were beginning to blur before my eyes. I had not rested properly in days...it could not hurt to close my eyes…just for a minute or two…

_I was standing on a cliff, not high, but dark and fiery. Harsh winds shrieked in my ears, voices sibilant and raw and coarse. I looked down into the chasm and saw a shape rising up towards me, arms extended, hair as red as the fire around._

_ "Brother!" called the shape, and I almost did not recognize the voice, so raw was it with pain and anguish. "Macalaurë!"_

_ I started in horror, for now I saw the figure clearly. "Russandol! Climb up! Quickly!" I looked around wildly for some way of helping my brother, but the ground was dark and bare around me._

_ "No! I cannot, for this is no ordinary prison. Help me, Macalaurë!"_

_ "How?"_

_ "I do not know! I am neither alive nor dead, caught in this torment for eternity!" Tears streamed down my brother's cheeks and I felt almost physically pained by my helplessness. "I cannot get out. I cannot die!"_

_ "Russandol!"_

_ My brother seemed to cry something in reply, but the winds were howling so piercingly, so ferociously, that I could not hear a word. _

_ "RUSSANDOL!" I screamed._

_ The winds became deafening and something - thunder? - began to pound intermittently in the distance. Darkness gathered and my brother began to fade away._

_ "NO!"_

I jerked awake as someone knocked loudly on the door. "Lord Maglor? Lord Elrond has requested your presence. Lord Maglor!"

I felt cold and shaken, but somehow I found my feet and crossed the room to open the door. Lindir stood before me, a look of concern on his features. "Lord Maglor, are you alright?"

_Lord_ Maglor. As though I was High King of the Noldor. _Which_, I thought after, _I might be. Or would be, if any of the Noldor were still alive_. Elrond had told them of my identity, then. It hardly mattered.

"Lord Maglor?"

I cleared my throat. "Yes, thank you, Lindir. I - I fell asleep. Where is Lord Elrond?"

"He wondered if you wanted to join him for supper."

"Supper!" I passed a hand before my face. How time flew when one began to do things. "Yes. Yes, I would like that."

"Follow me, my lord. We'll get you a bath and a change of clothes."

But all the while the eyes of Maedhros swam before me, a shadow just barely present enough to be perceived. _A dream_, I thought, but how strange and real it had seemed. Was it a trick of Lorien? Or was Maedhros still alive, in some form, and had exerted all his power to make a desperate attempt to communicate with me?

When I was shown to Elrond, he stood up in alarm. "You look as pale as death! What happened?"

"I had a dream," I said softly. "I dreamed of Maedhros."

Next: Chapter 5: The Curse of Morgoth

A key for names:

Maedhros = Russandol (epesse)

Maglor = Macalaure (mother-name)

Gandalf = Mithrandir, Olorin

Saruman = Curumo

Galadriel = Artanis


	5. Chapter 5: The Curse of Morgoth

Chapter 5: The Curse of Morgoth

After I recounted my dream to Elrond over food and drink, the lord of Imladris sat silently, deep in thought, for a long time. I did not say anything more; I had my own thoughts to ponder. For instance, where was Maedhros, truly? I had thought him dead, along with the rest of my brothers, and his Silmaril lost; but I had already accepted that my dream was no mere product of my own imagination.

Apparently Elrond was also thinking along the same lines, for after a while he said, "Maedhros must be caught somehow between Life and Death, in some strange prison that is not of the making or keeping of Mandos. I wonder, though...how did he end up there? If he cast himself into a fiery chasm, as it is told, he should be dead. If he is not dead, he should be alive…"

I was thinking, too. "Russandol hung upon Thangorodrim for years," I said quietly. "We never talked about it. It was enough to have him back. But, I cannot imagine Morgoth _fed_ him or -" I stopped, my lips peeling back from my teeth in a grimace of disgust at the thought of our old nemesis and at the hate that rose in me when I thought of my brother's torment. "Do you think he might have put some sort of - a spell, or magic of some dark kind, that kept Maedhros alive, even at the brink of death, to prolong his torment?"

Elrond glanced at me dubiously. "Morgoth was very powerful. I suppose it is possible."

"Maedhros meant to die when he cast himself and his Silmaril into the chasm," I said darkly, "but, if I am right, Morgoth's magic did not allow him to do so. His body, perhaps, was destroyed, but his fëa was trapped in this - this prison of Morgoth's making."

Elrond leaned back, looking deeply troubled. "_Ada_, I do not know how such a prison would work. I cannot begin to think how it might be broken."

A dull ache had wormed its way into my heart. I knew now that Maedhros was not dead, that there was hope for my brother. Besides, the Silmaril was with Maedhros when he disappeared; perhaps he knew of its location. But my heart cried out with every second at the torment I now knew my brother was experiencing. He was, I decided then, the strongest of all the Noldor. No other could endure so much and come out stronger than before, as I was certain would be the case. The way he recovered after Thangorodrim...it was as if a new fire had come to life within him, and our enemies fled before the fell light in his eyes.

I resolved then that I would find my brother, no matter what it took. His prison was of Morgoth's make, I was sure of it, of dark power that I could not hope to comprehend on my own, nor any of my kin in Arda. I despaired for a moment and looked within myself for strength.

_What would my father do?_

I thought about this for a minute. Fëanor had not been named so in vain. My father would have taken up flame to fight fire. I hardened my heart then, for I knew what I had to do. _So be it_.

"I cannot stay," I said to Elrond then. "I must look for my brother."

"Where will you go?"

I thought for a moment, choosing my words carefully. "You said Galadriel was at the council. Is she gone?"

"She is. She has returned to her realm in the woods of Lorien. Do you mean to take counsel with her?"

"If she will advise me. Will you tell me how to get there?"

"I will."

I paused, weighing the silence before speaking again. "When you spoke to me about the White Council, you said that Olorin thought the Enemy was rising up again. Where would he be? Morgoth's strongholds in the north were destroyed."

Elrond sighed deeply. "Gandalf has said that a Necromancer has taken up residence in the fortress of Dol Guldur, in the south of Thranduil's realm in the Greenwood east of the mountains. Gandalf believes this Necromancer is Sauron returned. Saruman believes it is no more than a human sorcerer."

"Yet Gandalf presented a Morgul blade, you said, the dagger of the Witch-king of Angmar."

"It is so. I do not know who the Necromancer truly is."

I thought it was enough to go on, but I said nothing. Maedhros had fallen under the curse of Morgoth, and so it affected me, as well. No one would more surely know what my brother's prison was and how to break it than Morgoth's most faithful and skilled servant. But I wondered if I wasn't going too far. Would I be going to my death, seeking the help of such a being? Besides, what did I have to trade? Only one thing…

_No_. My entire being rebelled against the idea. I could not break my oath. The Silmarils were mine to gain, not to give away, especially to the servants of Morgoth. But if I was successful, Maedhros could lead me to the Silmaril that he cast into the chasm, and I would have a net loss of none. Yet then Gorthaur would possess one of my father's jewels, the most beautiful crafted thing to ever grace Arda, which contained the Light of the Two Trees...no. I couldn't do it.

But then I remembered Maedhros and my resolve changed again. My oath said nothing of keeping the Silmarils always - only of gaining them back when they were taken. My oath would drive me to confront Sauron once more, later, to take back what was mine. I shoved away the certainty that that confrontation would end very badly for me. Perhaps it wouldn't. Finrod Felagund had challenged Sauron through a contest of songs of power. Finrod had fallen, but I was a mightier singer than he. I did not have to share his fate.

I could not leave my brother in his prison, neither alive nor dead but in endless anguish. I had to try what I could. I had to put aside my hate and hope that Gorthaur would take the bait.

I had never hoped for anything so hopeless in my life.

Next: Chapter 6: Maglor in Dol Guldur


	6. Chapter 6: Maglor in Dol Guldur

Chapter 6: Maglor in Dol Guldur

I took my leave of Elrond the very next day, listening to his advice on traveling to Lothlorien but having pored over maps during the night to find the best way of getting to the fortress of Dol Guldur. I made my way to the mountains, and took the Pass of Caradhras. From there, I angled southeast, and soon came to the borders of the forest. From there, it was a simple matter of keeping to the edge of the woods and heading south. In that manner I came to Dol Guldur.

I could feel the darkness. It was colder here, and somehow the light of the sun never managed to fully pierce the storm clouds that hung above the ruins of what had once been a great fortress. There was power, too, here, great and dark, hanging over the place like a fog. I tried to place it and guessed, from the suspicious lack of activity and _things_ in general, that it was a spell of concealment.

I had the power to lift it. Letting my clear voice ring over the vale, I sang a song of revealment, of uncovering, of piercing of clouds and of opening of locks. As I sang, I stepped upon the bridge and crossed it, entering the fortress. Oh, there was power here. I sang of seeking and of treating, of wanting and of receiving, of alliance. The melody changed, and I sang more earnestly, until I had no more to sing and my voice echoed, bouncing off the stones.

Then in answer I heard a low, rumbling song, coming from deep within the fortress. It was a song of hearing, a song of staying, of great dark power and of craft, a song of treating and alliance. It led me deeper into the stronghold, and though I could feel eyes watching my movements, none appeared to hinder or confront me. I came thus into a large cavern, where half a bridge extended into the empty space. The song here faded, and a mass of darkness condensed in front of me.

Gorthaur stood before me then, the Accursed, in a near-unrecognizable form. He was great and tall, vaguely man-shaped, but dark as shadow in the night, and he looked near as fell as Death. His voice was so sibilant I could hardly understand it, but he spoke a tongue we shared.

"So Kanafinwë the Mighty!" he laughed. "Welcome to my abode. Not all who are lost are gone - we are two examples! A fine pair we make, the lost and abandoned Noldo prince and the humble servant of Morgoth, last of the great powers of this world! But what would you have of me? You seek me out especial, I deem, but your reason is hidden from me. Speak, son of Fëanor, Dispossessed!"

"You say it yourself - you are the most powerful of the servants of Morgoth who have remained in Arda. You, if any, would know his work and how to undo it. That is why I sought you out, Gorthaur - to sue for your assistance."

Sauron laughed, and the sound seemed to smite me like a hammer. "And why should I help you, Noldo? We have ever been on opposite sides of the same wars. It gives me pleasure to know you suffer yet at the hand of my former master. I had thought to kill you here and now, but now I know you suffer enough to be driven to seek my help; and that is more torture than I could ever inflict upon you, save to deny you what you desire. Go! and let whatever torments my master yet wreaks upon you from the Void continue to cause you anguish."

"Wait!" I cried. "You think I am fool enough, or so low-brought, to crawl hither on my knees and beg for your help? No! I offer a deal, a fair one, in my mind. I will give you something in return for your help."

Sauron bent his gaze and will upon me, but I stood, my heart hard, my will iron, and my chin high. I had made my choice. "You would trade something," he said, perceiving my intent, written clear upon the hard lines of my face. "You brought it with you, I would guess. What is it? What could you possibly have that you could trade for my help in undoing my master's work?"

In answer I said no words, but reached into the pouch on my belt and drew out the jewel, holding it high aloft. Out of its dark and leather prison, the Silmaril shone brilliantly, illuminating the entire cavern. Sauron let out a cry, and his figure dissolved into a shapeless mass of darkness at the far end of the cavern. I realized I had unintentionally maimed or hurt him with the light of the jewel, which had not been my direct will, so I reluctantly stowed the Silmaril again.

Without the light of the Silmaril, the cavern seemed darker than it was before. Sauron formed before me once more, but more slowly and seemingly more cautiously. He rumbled in a dark, evil-sounding tongue unknown to me, and seemed to draw shadows to him, making himself more dense. When he was ready, he faced me again.

"That is a gift, indeed, Kanafinwë," said Gorthaur darkly, "especially from you. I do not ask how you got it or why you would give it - that matters not. Whatever you desire from me, the trade would be fair. But I am too weak to accept it now. You must wait until I am stronger. Then I will help you, in return for Fëanor's jewel."

"No!" I said firmly. "You will help me now. The Silmaril you will receive when you wish it."

"That is not how trades are made, Noldo," replied Gorthaur. "I do not trust your word."

"Then I will swear to you." The gravity of what I was about to do did not escape me, but I could not back out now. "With Eru as my witness and Mandos as my judge, I swear to you, Gorthaur, that after you have helped me with my ends, when you demand it, you will receive from me a Silmaril, one of three my father made. I swear it by the Secret Fire. Should I keep my oath not, let my fëa be cast forever into the Void, to suffer only darkness for eternity." For nothing less would satisfy Sauron.

And my enemy was satisfied. "That is a grim and stern oath, Kanafinwë. It will hold you to your word. I am content. I will help you with your ends and in return receive a Silmaril. Let it be so! Now, tell me: what is it you require of me?"

I did not speak immediately, taking a minute to search for the proper words. "It concerns my brother, Maedhros. He appeared to me in a dream some days past; he called to me for help. He told me he was neither living nor dead, that he was trapped in a fiery chasm as prison for eternity. I do not see how that could be, as he cast himself into a chasm to die, unless…"

"Unless Morgoth put a spell on him," said Gorthaur, guessing my thoughts, "exerting his power to keep Maedhros alive, to prolong his torment. You think this happened on during Maedhros' stay in Angband."

"Is it not possible?"

"It is. But it would be difficult to determine of what making is Maedhros' prison. To extract him, one way or another, would require time and great care. Would you not rather learn to necromance one of your other brothers? That would be easier."

I paused, surprised. I had not been expecting this. "Learn? Then you would teach me?"

"If you wanted to learn, I could teach you to do as I do - to bring back the dead."

_To bring back the dead. _No, I had not expected this at all. I opened my mouth to refuse, to condemn Gorthaur and his dark ways, to affirm my loyalties and respect for all that I had lost and all that had been lost because of my actions. Instead, what I said was simply: "Then teach me. Teach me necromancy."

Sauron laughed again, but this time it did not cow me. I stared hard at him as he agreed, "Very well, son of Fëanor. I will teach you necromancy."

"_And_ break Maedhros out of his prison," I added quickly. "The one does not substitute the other."

"You ask much."

"The compensation is more."

"You may be called simply Kanafinwë, yet you are crafty, Maglor of the Noldor!" said Sauron, and I tried to gauge his tone to determine whether it was respectful or mocking. Given that it was Sauron, I suspected he was mocking me, but given his words and voice I couldn't be sure, so I said nothing in reply. Gorthaur continued, "Well! I tire of our banter. We have a deal, son of Fëanor. Before you leave, you must do one thing for me."

I was instantly suspicious anew. "What thing?"

"I lack the power to take a solid form. Even now, I am only a shadow in the shape of a Dark Lord! Lend me some of your strength through song - you have plenty to spare! Only then will I be able to take form and teach you."

Reluctant as I was to help the old Lieutenant of Morgoth, I nevertheless had little choice. When I sang, my voice was rich and saturated with my own power and strength. I sang a song of growing, of stability, of safety. I sang of might and defence, of shields and bright swords, of hope. When I stopped, Gorthaur stood before me, dark, but certainly solid, tall, but no longer a shadow. He eyes were red-orange as flame as he appraised me, lips curved in a cruel approximation of a smile.

"Go now, Kanafinwë," said Sauron, "and come back to my fortress in three days. By then, I will know, at least, of what the curse of Morgoth on Maedhros consists. At that time will I begin your training."

I did not like the sound of that, but I supposed that was what I had signed up for. I did not bid him farewell or take my leave of him. I simply nodded and backed out of the cavern. I looked about me as I retraced my steps, ready to fly from the place or stand and fight at the first sign of treachery, but the fortress was as silent as it had been before my arrival. Only invisible eyes watched me pass. Still, I waited until I was well out of sight of the dark place to relax.

I had proved myself to be Sauron's equal. But was it enough? And could I keep it up?

I supposed I would find out in three days.

"Eru forgive me," I whispered. Sorrow was in my heart, but my eyes were dry and my heart was hard. My spirit was fire.

Next: Chapter 7: Of the Halls of Mandos


	7. Chapter 7: Of the Halls of Mandos

Chapter 7: Of the Halls of Mandos

I spent two weeks in Dol Guldur. After I came back on the third day, as agreed, Sauron led me into the depths of the fortress and included me into his spell of concealment. I saw then that he was raising a terrible army of Orcs and Wargs and, indeed, the Dead - wraiths of the Ringwraiths, and other dark spirits. It came upon me to worry about what form my own spirits would take.

Sauron laughed when I voiced my concern. "You will be bringing back Elves, I imagine," he said to me. "That is different. Their _fëar_ are held by Mandos; it is from his halls that you will be extracting them. But if they have died long enough ago, their _fëar_ will be bound to _hroar_ - their bodies will come back with their spirits."

After the initial walk through the ruins, I saw nothing of Sauron's army; I saw only Sauron himself. Day and night he pushed me, but it was difficult; my entire being rebelled with every fiber against his dark magic and I had to fight every second to distract myself from hatred and disgust. I lost all sense of time, and kept track of the days by counting the times Sauron left me to pursue his own ends.

Every time he returned I took the opportunity to inquire after Maedhros. I was told that Sauron had learned of what making was Maedhros' prison, but did not yet know how to extract him. The thought of my brother was the only thing that gave me strength in the darkness, that and the Simaril, which I would take out when Sauron left and let shine, piercing the darkness with its light.

Days came and went, nights came and went, but the halls of Mandos remained closed to me.

Then one day, Sauron came in accompanied by four of his Orcs, who dragged in a struggling, cursing, slight figure and cast him upon the floor before me. With a start, I recognized my brother. Heedless of Sauron's gaze and mockery of the Orcs, I threw myself down next to him to embrace him.

"Maedhros!"

His alarm quickly turned into confusion. "Maglor? Maglor, what - how -?"

"You're safe now, Russandol. I promise." I cringed inwardly as the words spilled from my lips. I was beginning to make a habit out of making promises I might not be able to keep.

"Maglor, where are we?"

"In Gorthaur's lair. But do not be alarmed. We are safe, at least for the time being." I raised my head and met Sauron's flaming, mocking eyes and hoped it was true. I knew I couldn't keep my brother here, distressed and wearied as he was. He needed rest and healing. So I said, "Maedhros and I are leaving. I do not know when I might return."

Maedhros started at my words, and stared at me incredulously, but Sauron smiled. "Do not forget, son of Fëanor, what you have promised me."

"You have not asked for it."

"Nor will I, yet. That time is yet to come."

"I assume our passage through your fortress will be unhindered."

"None will bar your way," Sauron swore.

Ignoring my brother's fierce whispers in my ear, I helped him up and we began to make our way out of Dol Guldur. It was slow going. Despite Maedhros' internal fire, he was weak and leaned heavily on me as we walked. I, too, was wearied from Sauron's training, fruitless as it had been, but seeing the light of day once more lightened my spirit and gave me strength at least to bear Maedhros beyond the ruins.

When we were out of sight of the fortress, I let him down and we rested for a time. I could ignore his questions no longer.

"Maglor, what have you done?"

"I made a deal with Gorthaur."

Maedhros made a sound that was half a cry and half a groan. "_Why_?!"

"Because, Maedhros," I said helplessly, "you are my brother. You are all that I have left - save Elrond."

"Elrond!"

"Oh, and the Silmaril."

"The Silmaril!"

"And whatever Noldor I take back from Mandos, once I learn necromancy."

"_WHAT!_"

I winced and looked at him sheepishly. "I told you, Maedhros. I made a deal with Gorthaur. He has been trying to teach me necromancy. And he extracted you from your prison."

Maedhros did not reply immediately. When he spoke, he said softly, "May I see it?"

I didn't have to ask what he meant. I drew it gently out of the pouch and proffered it to him. Maedhros hesitated, his hand hovering over the jewel. Its light shone through his flesh and washed both our bodies with light.

"It does not burn you?"

"No," I said thoughtfully. "I do not know why. It came to me very recently. The ocean brought it back."

"Ulmo."

"Perhaps."

Maedhros' hand closed painlessly around it. He lifted it from my hands and held it up. "It is more beautiful than I remember," he murmured.

"Can you see the hand of our father in it?"

"I can see all our brothers, reflected in its surface and light." Maedhros lowered the Silmaril and gazed at me sadly. "Can you imagine - were it not for that fateful night in Formenos, how many lives would have been spared? How much blood would have been left unshed? What dark curses left unspoken?"

"It could not have been otherwise," I responded, staring at the jewel in his hand. "Had we thwarted Morgoth then, it would have started at some other, later, time. He never would have let us keep them."

"Many of the horrors that came after were of our making, not Morgoth's," said Maedhros then. "We could have sent ships back for Fingolfin and the other Noldor. We swore to take back the Silmarils from whomsoever should keep them, but we did not swear to slay our kin. Now look at us."

I did not reply, but softly, just for Maedhros' ears and mine, I began to sing _Noldolantë_, and for a long time we sat there, in the midst of gathering darkness, bathed in light, remembering. Somehow, it was easier than looking towards the future.

But it could not last. We were too near our enemy still, and my brother was weak. I knew well that Sauron was not above treachery. So Maedhros and I decided to try the forest, seeking to escape the long gaze of Gorthaur under the cover of the canopy. I did not still my tongue or stop my singing. If it drew enemies, I had my sword. If it drew friends, we were in need of aid. And the woods were all too quiet without my voice.

We had hardly gone a league when we were confronted for the first time. Fortune was on our side, for we were apprehended by none other than Radagast the Brown, as he named himself, one of the Istari. He was eager to tell us of his doings, despite not knowing yet our names. He had been following a trail of spiders, he reported, but my singing had drawn him off.

"Your voice, good elf, is strong and alive - it weaves its tale before a listener's very eyes!" rattled Radagast. "You would rival even Maglor son of Fëanor, I would say! Who are you?"

Maedhros laughed at this praise. "Truly, you give my brother no compliment," he said, and gave our names.

Radagast gasped at learning these and immediately began to lead us to his home in the forest. He complained bitterly about the spiders. "Some spawn of Ungoliant, or I'm not a Wizard!" he insisted. "There's witchcraft afoot."

"They are drawn to the Necromancer," I said thoughtfully, "or perhaps brought into being by him."

"A Necromancer? Yes, perhaps...perhaps…"

When we came to the home of Radagast, we were given food and drink and commanded to rest. Maedhros laid himself down at once and was asleep in minutes, but I sat by the fire, somehow cold despite the warmth.

Presently Radagast came to sit next to me. "You are troubled, Maglor. What is it?" he asked kindly.

I wanted to shrug and say it was nothing, but I found I could not. A deep coldness had set into my heart and I could distract myself from what I had done no longer. Therefore I told Radagast that I had set out in search of my brother and, when I found him, we had meant to go to Lothlorien, where our cousin Galadriel lived. I told him we had run afoul of the fortress of Dol Guldur accidentally, and we had seen the Necromancer there, and barely escaped with our lives. And I asked him what he knew of necromancy.

Radagast sat, troubled and thoughtful, for several minutes. Finally, he said, "Necromancy. The darkest form of magic. Very rare, thank goodness. There are different forms - many, many forms. The most common is bringing back spirits of mortal beings and binding them to half-formed bodies - a terrible state of being."

"And...is it possible to bring back one who has been long dead, and have them be as they were in life?"

"That would be very difficult. Certainly not possible for all creatures - elves, perhaps, for their _fëar_ reside in the Halls of Mandos."

So, Sauron had spoken true. I kept listening as Radagast thoughtfully elaborated.

"Theoretically, it might be possible to take an elven _fëa_ and bind it to their old body, but such a thing has never been attempted before. There have been few true Necromancers, and none of them would have a reason to bring back elves. Besides, there would be Mandos to contend with."

I tensed. "Mandos?"

"Oh, yes. Mandos keeps the spirits of the dead. He would certainly notice such an attempt, if successful. I wonder…"

I was wondering, too. Sauron had certainly omitted some important information, and I wondered at that, too. There was no love lost between Mandos and the Noldor, particularly the House of Fëanor. The Vala's curse had brought great ruin and grievous woe to us. I wondered, and wondered more, and my thoughts were dark.

But Radagast put his hand on my shoulder and brought me out of my musings. "Come, Maglor," he said warmly, "there is no reason to dwell on such dark things now. Here you are safe. We can speak more of the Halls of Mandos in the morning. Rest now, and lighten your heart!"

I did lie down, but much time passed before I was able to drift into an uneasy sleep. Bitterly, I predicted this would be only one of many restless nights to come. I had yet to experience the true consequences of my actions.

Next: Chapter 8: Valley of Singing Gold


	8. Chapter 8: Valley of Singing Gold

Chapter 8: Valley of Singing Gold

After spending the night in the care of Radagast, Maedhros and I went west, making for the woods of Lothlorien. A long night of rest had done my brother good, but he needed healing and to spend time in a realm not infested with spiders and not under the watchful gaze of Gorthaur. Besides, I had told Elrond I would go to see Galadriel.

We entered Lothlorien at nightfall and, once again, I sang out across the woods, daring anyone who dared to apprehend us. It did not take long for us to be found by a group of elves, fair-haired Silvans in cloaks of grey shadow.

"Welcome, sons of Fëanor," said the captain of the guard, who had just introduced himself as Haldir. "The Lady Galadriel has been expecting you."

I was not surprised they knew us. I remembered well the power of Galadriel. We followed the light-footed elves of Lothlorien and came soon to Caras Galadhon, heart of the woods. We were brought immediately to Galadriel, who saw us alone in a partially enclosed _talan_ high in a huge mallorn tree.

"Nelyafinwë," she said, facing us, after we were left alone, greeting us by our father-names, "Kanafinwë. Welcome to Lorien."

"Artanis," returned Maedhros respectfully, bowing his head.

I also bowed my head, but mostly to avoid the gaze of those piercing eyes a while longer, and I said nothing. I could feel her trying the barriers of my mind, but somehow, I knew not how, I found my mind was closed to her. Galadriel, for one reason or another, could not learn my thoughts, and for that I was immensely grateful to whatever had caused it.

She could still read my emotions in my face, however, and she frowned slightly at me but focused instead on my brother, who was telling her of how we came here. He did not leave out that he was only present thanks to Sauron.

""You need rest, and healing, Maedhros," said Galadriel when he had finished. "You must stay with us awhile and recover. Your hurts will be healed, but some of your wounds are deeper than others. Those will take longer to heal."

Maedhros bowed his head and murmured thanks. Galadriel called for some of her elves to take him to a place of rest, and then I was alone with her. When I looked back at her, her eyes were hard.

"It has been a long time, Macalaurë," she said softly, "but your voice has never been so enchanting or powerful."

"It has now the steady strength of the sea," I allowed cautiously.

Galadriel stared at me levelly. "There is darkness about you, Maglor. Not," she added, with a touch of steel in her voice, "unlike your father."

My heart hardened and my spirit flared at the mention of my father, and the Silmaril came unbidden to my mind.

"You bring something with you," she said, perceiving something of my thought. "Let me see it."

I realized she had probably seen it in the thoughts of Maedhros, though he had not spoken openly of it, and so I drew it out of the pouch.

The Silmaril shone with light and strength anew, far brighter in this place under the stars as the dawn was breaking than it had in Sauron's lair. Its brilliance made the Lady Galadriel seem a mere shadow, and in that moment, when I held it aloft, I could almost see myself as she saw me, with the jewel's light reflected in the gleam of my suddenly-wild eyes, a figure haggard and worn, yet somehow strong and fierce despite that, beautiful and terrible at once.

But the moment passed, and I lowered the Silmaril. The light had illuminated the very dawn, and the woods of Lothlorien seemed to glow gold all around us, and I stared about myself in wonder.

"Laurelindorenan this realm is also called," said Galadriel then, as elves rushed onto the_ talan_, drawn by the light that seemed to have summoned the very sun. "Fitting, that the Valley of Singing Gold should now house Macalaurë, gold-forging!" But her eyes were cold and her words guarded.

I knew then that Galadriel did not have to be able to perceive my thoughts to know my mission. I was a son of Fëanor, after all. I had an oath to keep.

Still, I was a guest in Lothlorien, so I spent the day being shown around Caras Galadhon, dining with Lord Celeborn, and singing with the elves of the woods, many of whom seemed to be torn between their desire to listen to me and to accompany me. I also visited Maedhros, who already seemed much invigorated, though we were both told sternly that he had to stay here for at least a month to ensure full recovery. I kept the Silmaril out of sight.

At nightfall, Galadriel came to me once more and bade me follow her. She brought me to a place with a basin of water.

Galadriel filled it to the brim and faced me calmly before speaking. "I hope you will not be unpleasantly surprised when I say that I have no particular love for you or your brother, Maglor son of Fëanor. But your brother Curufin's son Celebrimbor was ill-advised at times but knowingly wrought no evil. He did not deserve his fate." She stepped up to the basin. "This is the Mirror of Galadriel. It shows things that are, things that were, and some things that have not yet come to pass but may. Will you look?"

"There is nothing from my past that I desire to see," I said, and privately suspected there was nothing particularly good in my future, either. But I stepped up to the edge, across from Galadriel. We both lowered our gazes to the water.

I was not wrong. I saw little that was pleasant and much that caused me pain. The visions were back to back and very short and fleeting. I saw my father raving in Tirion. I saw myself and my six brothers leaping to his side with drawn swords, fire in our eyes, to swear our fateful oath. The ships burned, the sea turned red with spilled blood. Fingolfin stood looking into the distance, surrounded by ice - this, I realized, was the crossing of the Helcaraxë. Then I saw myself and Maedhros in Doriath, and I did not look away. Then I saw myself and Maedhros, back to back, in Eönwë's camp, ready to die defending ourselves and the Silmarils. I watched Maedhros cast himself, in pain and in grief, into a fiery chasm, and I saw my Silmaril sinking into the sea. Then came something unfamiliar to me: a pair of rough, dirty hands prying open rock and light streaming from the fissure. I saw Varda with a Silmaril in hand, after having produced a shadowy mirror of it to put in the sky. Then I walked singing through Dol Guldur. Gorthaur, dark with flaming eyes, smiled with craft and looked into a palantir. I saw a huge wasteland, and ruins of a fortress that looked only vaguely familiar. Then I saw myself on my knees before Mandos. And then there was darkness, so sudden, so vivid, so _cold_, that I jerked back from the mirror in alarm with a cry.

The water cleared, but there were ripples along the surface, even though neither I nor Galadriel had touched it. I stepped away from it, catching my breath. Galadriel was still and silent, eyes downcast. I looked hard at her while she wasn't looking and was surprised to note that she was visibly shaken. She looked...afraid.

Just as I was about to speak, to ask her in genuine concern what the matter was, she looked up at me, and I was stricken speechless. Her lips were parted, her eyes were wide, and she was pale.

"What have you done?" she whispered.

_Done?_ I supposed I had made a deal with Gorthaur, which was bad enough, but surely that one brief vision of him wasn't enough to tell Galadriel that much. It had wrought nothing catastrophic, yet. It had gotten me my brother back, at any rate.

"I don't understand," I said finally, when I had found my voice. "What is it?"

"The darkness - in the end - you felt it, Maglor. _It shook the Mirror_. Something _terrible_ is going to happen."

I tried to organize my thoughts, but for some reason Sauron's mocking laughter was ringing in my ears. "You said yourself - your Mirror shows things that _may_ be, not things that necessarily _will_ be," I reasoned.

"Yes...you're right…" Galadriel did not sound convinced.

"Galadriel, nothing bad is going to happen," I said firmly, wishing I could believe it.

I could tell she didn't believe me, either, but my words seemed to have a calming effect anyway. She took a breath, as if she wanted to say something, but she was silent.

I also hovered on the verge of saying something. True, Galadriel and I had never been close, but she was wise and powerful and now one of the last of the Noldor. Her advice, I was sure, would be invaluable. But I was silent, remembering the Silmaril in my pouch and my oath to Gorthaur. I had a burden, it was true, but it was mine to bear. Galadriel had the luxury of being able to put the greater good above everything else; but I had promises to keep, and miles to go before I sleep.

I resolved then to leave Laurelindorenan the very next day and return to Dol Guldur. I had to honor my oath one way or another, and to find the other two Silmarils, with which Galadriel would never help me. I took my leave of Galadriel, claiming a need to rest, and went immediately to see Maedhros.

My brother was awake. He stood upon the edge of a _talan_ gazing down at the valley, but smiled at me when I approached, though his expression changed when he saw the look in my eyes. "Maglor. What is it?"

"I'm leaving, Maedhros."

"Now?"

"Tomorrow."

Maedhros frowned. "Why? It's nice here."

"You should stay. Rest, heal, recuperate. I will return in a month's time."

"But - where will you go?"

"To Elrond," I said smoothly, without hesitation. "I left him too soon last time."

Maedhros smiled faintly. "I would see him, as well."

"You will. After you are healed."

"I will await your return eagerly. Oh, Maglor."

"Yes?"

"Will you leave the Silmaril here?"

I shook my head slowly. "I'm taking it with me."

Maedhros faced me more fully, looking at me carefully. "Why? The Silmaril will be safest here, in this realm protected by the power of Galadriel. Why take it on the road?"

"It came to me from the sea, so many years after I tossed it away. I cannot part with it just yet. Not now."

Maedhros looked only partially satisfied. I made to turn away, but he grabbed my arm and turned me back to face him. "Maglor, tell me true. You told me you had made a deal with Gorthaur. He brought me back from my prison and you say he has been teaching you - what is he receiving from you in return?" When I did not answer immediately, Maedhros pressed, "What did you promise him?"

I twisted my arm out of my brother's grip. "Everything will be fine, Maedhros. I promise. Stay here. You'll be safe. I will return in a month."

"Maglor!"

But I was already turning away, afraid that I would say too much if I stayed a minute longer, even though I desperately wanted to tell him everything. I began descending the tree.

"MAGLOR!" Maedhros refused to leave it at that. He went after me, staying on my heels as I descended. "You cannot leave like this! We have only just found each other again. Why must our reunion be poisoned by the dark of Gorthaur?"

"This only happened because you saw fit to cast yourself into a fiery chasm," I pointed out, though I could well understand why he had.

"Maglor!" he snapped, annoyed.

"Sorry, Maedhros. But I have to do this." I turned to him with the brightest smile I could muster under the circumstances when we reached the ground and put my hand on his shoulder. "I told you I would return in a month."

"You did," Maedhros allowed.

"That means I will." Having spoken thus, I left my brother in the care of Galadriel and turned back to the east. Whether my road lay in darkness or in light, I would take it - for I had oaths to fulfill.

Next: Chapter 9: Gorthaur's Treachery


	9. Chapter 9: Gorthaur's Treachery

Chapter 9: Gorthaur's Treachery

I had to steel myself before setting foot in Dol Guldur once more, fighting my dark premonitions. The Silmaril was safely hidden in a pouch at my belt, but it made me sick knowing it wouldn't be there for much longer. After so many years, to give it to Gorthaur...but I had sworn. Eventually, Sauron would grow more powerful, and would ask for the Silmaril. When that time came, I had to be ready to fulfill my oath.

I wasn't too eager to return to Sauron's training, either. Last time had been grueling, and he had pushed me without mercy, though to no avail. And I had not forgotten about the words Radagast had spoken of Mandos, nor about the vision I had glimpsed in Galadriel's mirror.

Still, if I could learn something useful from my enemy, I supposed that was good. So I took a deep breath before stepping onto the bridge. And then I crossed it into the ruins once more.

Sauron's spell of concealment no longer had any effect on me, so I was treated to the full glory of the small army of foul creatures that was housed there. A huge, snarling Orc led me deep into the bowels of the fortress again, into the depths of the darkness, where Gorthaur awaited me with his flaming, piercing gaze and cutting, mocking smile.

Upon learning that Sauron taught me only during the day and left me at night, I was able to measure my time in Dol Guldur, and for a week I stayed in the depths of the ruins, learning much of the darkest arts Gorthaur had mastered. I was able to put aside some of my hate, and bring forth my passion for learning, and so this time we accomplished more. I learned much from my enemy; more, probably, than I had need of or even wanted. And every day Sauron taught me a little more, pushed me a little harder, and I sank a little deeper into the pit I had created for myself. I came to admire him somewhat, in the only way that one might admire an enemy, acknowledging great skill and power and realizing that fear was well-grounded in wisdom.

On the eighth day of my second stay in Dol Guldur, Sauron returned to me seeming very satisfied with himself. "Are you ready to uphold your end of our deal, Kanafinwë?" he asked me then.

I was surprised, and rather unpleasantly so. I had not expected this so soon. "It has only been a month since I helped you take a true body. Surely you are still too weak to handle the Silmaril?" I tried desperately.

Gorthaur laughed cruelly, and I noticed that Orcs had begun to come up behind him. "True, you helped me when we first made our deal, and I was grateful. And I am now, for you have done it again, though not by your own design."

"What do you mean?" I demanded, confused and apprehensive.

"I did not expect you to notice. You, who are so naive in the arts over which I have utter mastery! But I do nothing out of charity. While I taught you, while you learned my craft, I drew on your own power as you exerted it, and I grew stronger. Indeed, I should thank you, Kanafinwë, for sustaining me thusfar. But no longer! Today our deal comes to an end. I require you to give up what you promised me."

I could not quell the rage that flared in me. "You, Gorthaur!" I cried, and cursed him. "You oathbreaker!"

"I have broken no oaths," disagreed Gorthaur. "Not to you, leastways. I said I would teach you, and I did. I have taught you much already. But I made no promise not to use your learning for my own ends. So do not curse me, Noldo! Of the two of us, I am, so far, the only one who has kept my side of the deal!"

The Orcs milled around, swords and scimitars and spears pointed towards me, and the bitterness of it threatened to choke me. But I drew out the Silmaril and when Gorthaur approached, I forced myself to hand it to him, the point of a sword pressing hard into my back. Sauron did not touch the jewel; he knew it would burn him, no less than it did his former master. Rather he created a bubble of air around it, so that he could hold it floating between his separated palms, and through its light he smiled at me.

"Kanafinwë," said Gorthaur mockingly, "I hold your oath fulfilled."

I immediately saw what would happen in the next few seconds if I did nothing. Sauron had no more need of me, and I was dangerous to allow to live. I had precious little time left. Dignity had no more place here; besides, I had promised Maedhros I would return. Therefore swiftly I drew on the crafty, smooth speech of my brother Curufin, of which there was some within me, as well. After all, I had nothing to lose.

"You're right," I said quickly, even as Sauron drew breath, likely to issue a command to kill me. "My oath is fulfilled. But you are also wrong, for yours is not!"

That gave him pause. He looked at me, half in scorn and half in curiosity. "And how is that, O Noldo wise?"

_Definitely mocking_. But I forced myself nevertheless to take his scorn. "You promised you would teach me necromancy, but I have yet to summon a single spirit from the dead. I want to _learn_, Sauron, and you, greatest of all the servants of Morgoth, have the power to teach me. So, _teach me_."

Sauron's eyes never left mine, and every position of every part of his body told me he was listening.

Encouraged, I continued, "Not for naught were you reckoned as the greatest of the Maiar, certainly greatest of Aule's students. Not through idleness did you rise to be the Lieutenant of Angband! Your skill and craft are unparalleled, and I say this as a son of Fëanor, who has seen great work. I have helped you. Surely you would not refuse to pass just a little bit more of your vast knowledge and skill to me? A few more days under your tutelage is all I ask - is that so very much?"

My heart was beating fast as Sauron stepped close to me. I could hardly breathe as he opened his mouth and growled, "Leave us."

Only when the Orcs were gone and I was left alone with Gorthaur did I relax a bit. This was more even ground. Now, I had some hope. The Silmaril floated between us as Gorthaur drew himself up.

"So, the mighty son of Fëanor has been lured by the darkness of Sauron the Great!" Gorthaur pronounced shamelessly and immodestly, clearly delighted at another chance to gloat. "I confess myself surprised - and that is to say little. It seems you are not, after all, all that you appear, Kanafinwë! Yet you speak true - I am skilled and powerful, and I have had no student since…"

I stopped listening as Gorthaur turned away, leaving the Silmaril floating before me. As he spoke on, gesturing grandly and drawing on his power to gather darkness, I snatched the Silmaril out of the air and was halfway to the exit by the time Sauron realized what I had done.

I hadn't quite made it outside when the inevitable roar of fury and call to arms blared out across the entire fortress, but it wouldn't have mattered if I had. There were guards just outside, and my frantic sprinting would have revealed my guilt in any case. I cradled the jewel in my left hand and with my right I wielded my sword with lethal intent and deadly earnest for the first time in ages. I found the motions came back quite naturally. I hewed my way through the minions of my enemy, seeking to find the way out - but I was hopelessly lost, and there were many of them between me and any way I might choose to go.

The high of battle distracted me, and I realized that it was time to run. I could not hold them all off, and even as I turned I sustained a wound to my side. With gritted teeth and sprinted any way that was clear, and found myself cornered, in the end, atop a half-crumbled tower, with a sheer drop on one side and a host of snarling Orcs on the other.

It looked like I wasn't going to return to Maedhros, after all. But better the Silmaril fall into a chasm with me than be captured by Gorthaur. I turned before they could finish climbing the stairs and jumped of my own accord.

The drop was higher than I had originally estimated. The wind ripped at my clothes and hair, and I held the Silmaril close to my chest as I fell, so that it might not be torn away from me. I closed my eyes and prepared for the final impact.

But instead of hitting hard ground, I fell onto something softer and the sensation of falling was swiftly replaced by the sensation of soaring. I opened my eyes and shifted my body, so that I might look around.

I had rarely been so surprised. I was on the back of a Great Eagle, who had already borne me, in the few seconds since I had jumped, almost out of sight of Dol Guldur. He beat his great wings slowly and steadily, and together we rose to a great height, and I saw that he was bearing me back the way I came, over the Anduin and to the golden woods of Laurelindorenan.

After I had gotten over my initial surprise at being still alive, I realized that the majestic animal that had saved me must have been sent directly by Manwë. This thought troubled me, though I was grateful for the rescue; for it meant that the Valar were watching. First Ulmo and the Silmaril; then Mandos in the Mirror; now Manwë with an eagle.

They had a stake, then, in my actions; and, perhaps, were not so removed from the fate of Arda as they let on. Were they testing me? If so, I had certainly stumbled over some blocks in striking a deal with Gorthaur; yet I was saved. What would possess Manwë to save me from my own folly I could not begin to guess, and that, too, worried me, for it suggested that the actions I deemed would affect so few had the potential to influence the fate of Arda; else the Valar would not intervene.

When at last we descended in a small clearing near Caras Galadhon, I bowed to the eagle in respect and expressed my gratitude.

"You have not me to thank, Macalaurë of the Noldor, but the one who sent me," replied the majestic bird. "Manwë Lord of the Skies it was; he it is who should have your gratitude."

My suspicions were confirmed, then. "And so he does."

The eagle bent his head towards the Silmaril in my hand. "It is well you retrieved that jewel from the Necromancer. Gorthaur's treachery runs deep, Macalaurë; I fear you have not seen the last of him."

"He has held my oath to him fulfilled. Now I have only the oath of the House of Fëanor to keep."

"Then keep it! I have tarried long enough. I leave you in the care of the Lady Galadriel. Farewell, son of Fëanor!"

I watched the eagle leave, spreading its huge wings, carried by the wind. If the Valar were watching my movements, I had to be wary. I stared at the Silmaril in my hand, glowing fiercely in the day's light, and, despite my success today, felt grimness set in. From now on, I had to tread carefully in my struggle against Sauron for the Silmarils. For good or ill, I had been given a chance. Now it was up to me to take it.

Next: Chapter 10: The Coming of Winter


	10. Chapter 10: The Coming of Winter

Chapter 10: The Coming of Winter

In Caras Galadhon my wounds were treated and I was able to rest. Maedhros rarely left my side, but for days he said no word of Dol Guldur, nor of the Silmaril. He did not ask me where I had gone and did not ask how I had sustained my wounds, letting me decide when to broach the topic.

I did so a few days after my return to Lothlorien. Maedhros and I were sitting on the edge of a _talan_, our legs dangling over the side, watching the sunset. The Silmaril lay uncovered between us, bathing us both with the light of the stars, magnified tenfold.

"I am sorry I lied to you, Russandol."

Maedhros glanced at me with a slight smile. "I knew when you refused to leave the Silmaril here that you had no intention of going to see Elrond."

"Yet you let me go."

"You would not be stopped. I knew you would not make an alliance with Gorthaur without good reason or great need, and I know the strength of sworn oaths."

"How did you know I had sworn him an oath?"

"With no lesser insurance would Gorthaur allow you to leave with me. He is treacherous, and the untrustworthy ever distrust."

"I did swear him an oath. He helped me mightily, and, in return, he justly wanted something worth it."

Maedhros said nothing, but he was looking at me steadily now, waiting for it.

I nodded. "He wanted the Silmaril."

Maedhros nodded slowly. "You had nothing else to trade."

"So, I swore he would receive the Silmaril when he asked for it. At first he was too weak to take it right away. The light wounded him."

"But he grew stronger? So quickly? How?"

"While he taught me dark magic, he also drew upon my own essence, my own power, to build his strength, until he was strong enough to take the Silmaril. Then he took it from me at swordpoint. But," I said with a twisted, bitter smile, "he held my oath fulfilled."

Maedhros looked at me in amazement. "But how are you alive? How did you escape? Surely Gorthaur would have killed you at that point, once he had the Silmaril!"

"I believe I was within seconds of that at one point," I agreed. "But, once my oath was fulfilled, I no longer had to play by the rules." I did not relish relaying exactly how I had distracted Sauron, but Maedhros, thankfully, did not ask for details. After a moment, I added, "A Great Eagle bore me from Dol Guldur."

"Yes, Haldir mentioned that, as well."

"He told me he had been sent by Manwë."

Maedhros looked thoughtful. "That thought had occurred to me. But why?"

I shrugged. "If I knew, I would tell you. But it is not the first time we should have reason to suspect that the Valar are far more involved in the fate of Arda than they would have us believe, it seems."

"I wonder…"

We sat quietly for a minute as the sun disappeared beyond the horizon. Then, I said, "I do want to visit Elrond in Imladris, as we planned."

"But you're wounded."

"I am healing quickly. And we must set out soon, if we are to set out this year at all, for winter approaches and the road takes us over the mountains."

Maedhros nodded. "When you are ready. But don't be hasty! Let yourself heal, first."

After darkness fell, Maedhros left me to retire to his own bed, but I decided to go for a walk. I relished the feeling of the grass under my bare feet, the fresh forest scent on the light breeze, in the light of the stars and moon streaming in through the leaves of the trees. I let my legs take me where they may as I tried to clear my head of the events of the past few weeks.

Thus I came back to Galadriel's Mirror, where the Lady of Lorien stood, as if she knew I would appear. I paused when I saw her, but it was too late to turn back, so I inclined my head.

Galadriel smiled slightly. "You, too, are drawn by the Mirror tonight."

"I was on a walk," I insisted without inflection.

She gave me a look. "Darkness gathers, beyond my line of sight. Even the wisest left in Arda cannot say what the future holds. Something stirs in the shadows, biding its time."

I said nothing. There was nothing for me to say.

"Maglor," Galadriel implored softly, "will you not tell me what troubles you? We are kin, after all; will you not confide in me? I could help you."

But I shook my head slowly. "No, Lady Galadriel. You could not."

She instantly withdrew, and it seemed as though I had slammed closed a door that had previously been cracked open with my words. This door would not be opened again, I sensed; but what was done was done.

"Beware the darkness, Kanafinwë," she said then, coldly. "Remember the Mirror. It does not show its visions for naught." With those words, she swept past me and was gone by the time I looked back to find her.

I had not intentionally spurned my step-cousin, but I had meant what I said. Galadriel could not help me. She was wise and powerful, that was true, but I doubted she knew anything of the dark arts. And she was not bound by my oath.

Maedhros and I spent another week in Caras Galadhon, and then we took our leave of Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn and began making our way west. We traveled light, so the mountain pass was plenty passable, despite the snows of the tail end of autumn. With every step we took towards Imladris, and every step away from Dol Guldur, my heart lifted a little higher.

Elrond welcomed us with delight, and there was a warm reunion. For some time, it seemed as though we had all collectively gone back in time, returned to a time more filled with joy, when we still had family. Maedhros and I decided we would stay in Imladris for the winter. We had nowhere else to go, regardless; at least, nowhere we could reach before winter set in.

But after a few days of catching up and feasting and wine-drinking, recent events began to catch up with me, and I began to wonder how I might use what Sauron had taught me in my favor. It was time, I thought, to resume experimenting with magic. I had very nearly lost a Silmaril and my life in Dol Guldur, after all; I did not want that to be in vain.

Therefore one night I slipped out of Rivendell unnoticed, under the cover of darkness; the Silmaril I left in my room. I had no need of extra light tonight; the more darkness, the more easily I could use dark magic. The moon was overshadowed by the cover of clouds, and the stars were veiled. I could not ask for a better night to try my hand once more at the darkest craft of all.

In a clearing in the woods, out of sight of the Homely House of Elrond, I remembered what I had learned, and reached deep within myself to find that pat of me that valued the skill and did not mind the darkness. Without Gorthaur there, distracting me, siphoning my power and inducing my hatred, it was much easier than I expected. I chanted softly in the quiet night, and I saw him, briefly, solid enough in the midst of the trees that, were he close enough, I might have reached out and touched him. His dark hair shifted in the cool breeze and he frowned, crossing his arms against the cold of the oncoming winter, cunning eyes narrowed, and when he saw me, he opened his mouth as if to speak to me…

But then suddenly the clouds drifted above me, and the light of the moon poured down from the sky, the white rays cutting straight through his figure. He melted away with the breath of the wind, and I lost my hold on the magic and let it slip through my fingers.

I stood there for a long time, alone and silent, waiting. I was not sure what I was waiting for. Some kind of retribution, perhaps, some sign that I had done something wrong. I had almost succeeded. I had almost become a Necromancer. The realization brought mixed emotions in me. On the one hand, of course, was disgust. My near-success meant that I had taken one step closer to Gorthaur, one step towards all that I held abhorrent. But there was also elation, that I had nearly mastered it, that I could use the weapon of my enemy against him. _Fighting fire with fire…_

But nothing happened. No eagle came from Manwë to condemn my actions. No vision of Mandos plagued me. Only the phantom laughter of Gorthaur haunted me, as the light of the moon faded once more and darkness set in again.

Eventually I retraced my steps and returned to my chambers. The Silmaril greeted me with its glowing light and mindlessly I crossed the room to pick it up. But when my fingers brushed its surface, I snatched my hand back with a cry of pain. The jewel had _burned_ me! I examined my hand and found no trace of the burn, but I did not dare to touch it again.

My actions, it turned out, had not been free of consequence, after all.

But Gorthaur had predicted this and, in my fears, I had, too. One did not dabble in the dark arts lightly. And I knew now a way to counteract the safeguard of the Silmaril, a way Sauron had himself discovered only centuries ago, a new way, an untested way. Sauron had called it _blood magic_, for it worked only for those with the right heritage. I was the son of the creator of the Silmaril; if it would not work for me, it would work for no one.

And so for the second time that night I let myself descend into darkness. I slipped into a kind of trance as I chanted the words Gorthaur had taught me, and almost unwillingly I drew a knife and let the blade bite into the flesh of my palm. Unfeeling, I watched my blood drip onto the perfect jewel, temporarily marring its design, and my voice dropped to a low whisper. Darkness seemed to gather around me, until all that I could see was the Silmaril, steadily taking in my blood and absorbing it into itself. Darkness, darkness, and then suddenly everything went utterly black, and there was cold, such cold as I had never felt before.

And, as suddenly as it came, it was over. Light returned, and I found myself on my knees, my dagger on the floor before me, and the Silmaril seemingly unchanged. I felt shaken, as though I had experienced something horribly traumatic, and for a long time I could not get to my feet, nor reach for the jewel before me. The sleeping silence of Imladris suddenly seemed stifling, full of tense anticipation, the deep breath before the plunge. The weight of what I had done threatened to crush me.

But finally I reached out cautiously and let my fingers brush the very surface of the Silmaril. It suffered my touch and did not burn me. But I did not pick it up. Somehow I had lost the desire to. Weariness overcame me, and I slumped to the floor, despite being mere feet from my bed. Then sleep took me and I knew no more.

_I stood before the Mirror, ripples spreading along its watery surface. Galadriel was all in white, her hair golden in the moonlight. Her eyes were wide and full of fear. She spoke without moving her lips, and stood as if a statue._

_ "Darkness has come, cold as the breath of winter upon the land," she said, her voice echoing uncomfortably in my head. "The Door of Night has been opened. The Great Evil has rent its chains. The Enemy has been released from his prison."_

_ Her words seemed to physically cause me pain. On some level, I understood them, but I refused to comprehend the meaning behind them. _

_ Galadriel gasped then, and some of the water from her Mirror splashed out onto the grass. "He will seek to cross into Arda! He will rejoin his most faithful servant, and together they will build an army great enough to decimate all the forces the Free People of Middle-Earth could muster together! The long winter is coming. The watchful nights begin. We may all stand together, but even then we may still fall. Darkness is coming. Darkness is HERE!"_

I shot up off the floor with a wordless scream of panic and almost knocked my brother clean off his feet doing so.

"Maglor! What in Eru's name is the matter?" Maedhros rushed forward to steady me as I swayed, my heart beating wildly, still trying to figure out where I was. "You're as pale as death!"

I let out a sound that was half a snort and half a sob and took then a moment to pull myself together. "No, I - I'm fine. Did you…?"

Maedhros watched me carefully. "Did I what?"

I passed a hand over my eyes. "Nothing." But it wasn't nothing, and I could not hide such a terrible thing for long. Doing so could well prove fatal. "Where is Elrond?"

"He sent me to look for you. It is well past dawn, Maglor. Will you break fast with us?"

"Yes. Absolutely. At once."

Maedhros seemed taken aback by my sudden passion for breakfast, but he took it in stride. "Come on, then."

When we entered the room and Elrond saw us, he nodded, unsmiling. "You felt it, too," he said to me.

I did not deny it.

Maedhros laughed mirthlessly. "It seems we all slept badly last night. What happened?"

"Something only the Wise, attuned to the movements of the darkness, were able to feel," Elrond replied.

"The Door of Night was opened," I said flatly, my insides churning and my blood running cold. "Morgoth has escaped."

"_What?!_" Maedhros hissed.

"I'm afraid you're right," said Elrond, eyebrows furrowed. "But how could this have happened?"

"It should be impossible," Maedhros said with emotion. "Morgoth was imprisoned in the Void for good!"

"I'm going to find out," I said stonily, drawing both their gazes. "I'm going to learn how Morgoth escaped and where he has gone."

Maedhros stared at me. "But it's the dead of winter!"

"I know. I will travel light."

"Where will you go?" asked Elrond.

"North," I said, in a tone that defied any objection. "To the ruins of Angband beyond the mountains and wasteland."

Elrond looked surprised. "But Beleriand sank into the sea. Surely Angband was destroyed!"

But I shook my head. "I spent ages by the shores and I did not spend them all in one place. I once went north, far to the north, and to the west, just to see what was there. True, almost everything west of the Blue Mountains was covered in water, but Thangorodrim, broken, stands almost on the waterfront. Behind it, I am certain, are the ruins of Morgoth's stronghold."

"I will go with you!" Maedhros said at once.

"No. It would not be wise for us both to go at once. Should something happen, one of us must keep the Silmaril safe. You should follow me after some time."

Nobody was happy with it, but I refused to be reasoned with. So it was decided. I left the Silmaril with Maedhros and departed Imladris with nothing but the winter clothes I wore, my sword, and some supplies. I had a long, cold road ahead of me, west, then north, and then west again, but one thing I did not have was fear. I had wrought this evil; and since I had, I also could defeat it. And if I had to raise an army to do it, so be it. I would raise the most powerful army, united by a common goal, a common hatred, a common enemy, that Arda had ever seen.

Next: Chapter 11: Dead Winter Reigns


	11. Chapter 11: Dead Winter Reigns

Chapter 11: Dead Winter Reigns

Nearly a month passed as I made my way first to the coast, then up north, and then finally around the bay. A month after I left Imladris, and I stood before the ruins once more. The three peaks of Thangorodrim where broken, crushed by Ancalagon as he fell from the sky. The great gates of the fortress were half-crumbled, half-crushed, either way unworking. I had to climb over them to get into the ruined fortress.

Standing high above, gazing down at what was left of Morgoth's stronghold, I could see that, though the fortress was in ruins, the skeleton of it was still intact. It had been untouched for ages, but theoretically, someone with a great amount of power could raise it up again. The foundations were there; it just needed a bit of fixing. But was I powerful enough?

Perhaps I didn't have to be. I sighed, knowing that I would have to turn once more to dark magic, but desperate times called for desperate measures, and now there was the threat of Morgoth to face. So I paused to remember what Sauron had taught me and then drew upon my power and singing let my voice ring out across the waste.

The darkness of Morgoth had not quite left the land, and it was more bare than most of Arda, but in his absence living things had come back. There were sparse trees on the mountains, and yellow grass had begun to encroach on the waste, and though it was now buried under a blanket of snow I could feel its presence. Upon the lifeforce of these I drew, draining their energy and strength, until I was surrounded by death, and then poured it forth, singing a song of raising and of towers unbreaking, of the strength of old and gates that held, of great mountains and walls unbreached.

Watching my progress, I could almost understand the motivations of Morgoth and Sauron. A fortress rose up, rebuilding itself before my very eyes, with deafening grinding and the cracking of stone, a vision of ultimate power. _This_ was creation, _this_ was reshaping, and _this_ was greatness. Angband rose before me, morphing and flexing, changing under my gaze and with my song, fed by my power.

When my song faded away and I released the magic, the rebirth of Angband was complete, and all that was left was the howling of the wind as it broke upon the peaks of Thangorodrim, and I stood before the huge, dark fortress, afraid to enter it even knowing nothing was inside. I thought then of the dark things that may be hidden deep under the ruins, waiting still for the return of their master, and had rarely felt so utterly alone.

But I mastered myself and passed through the gate. For a while I explored the ancient stronghold, fascinated by the inside of the place I had always hoped I would never have to see. I found no sign of anyone or anything having disturbed the ruins since the War of Wrath. It seemed it had been truly abandoned, even by its own master.

I thought now of how I should proceed. One thing was clear to me: I had caused Morgoth to be released, and so I had to fix it. But how? I had rebuilt Angband, which served to demonstrate that I had acquired significant power; more, probably, than Sauron had intended. But what good was a fortress with no one to guard its walls? And if Morgoth decided to return to his old abode, I would be in deep trouble.

Yet somehow I thought that unlikely. In my dream, Galadriel had said he would seek to rejoin his most faithful servant, and that, unquestionably, was Gorthaur. Wherever Morgoth was, he was far away.

It came into my mind to claim Angband as mine. It seemed right, somehow; after all, I had already set a precedent of using my enemy's weapons for my own benefit. This was a dark place, corrupted by the presence of Morgoth; but I would settle here and it would change, and be a stronghold of light, a place fitting for the return of the Noldor!

Night was falling steadily, and I recalled my near-success in Imladris. I waited until the sun had utterly disappeared beyond the horizon before going deep into the dark stronghold, where I once more drew on my power and called him forth.

I had spent more of my strength on rebuilding Angband than I had thought, but I pushed everything I had left, putting all my power forth to reach into the Halls of Mandos and summon his _fëa_ back to Arda. And willingly he came, answering swiftly my call, as though he had been expecting me. He stood before me, a spirit in the darkness, and I reached forward and grasped his hand, binding his _hroa_ to the living earth.

"Maglor," he said, lips curving into the secret, crafty, knowing smile I remembered so well.

"Welcome, Curufin," I said, answering with a smile of my own, "to the new Angband!"

My younger brother proved to be less alarmed than my older, though he was understandably surprised at the location. From him I withheld no information, no secret thoughts, for I knew that, of all my brothers, Curufin would understand this opportunistic manipulation the best; and he knew the burden and desperation of the oath.

I was not wrong. Curufin grimaced at the thought of collaborating with Gorthaur, but he nodded also. "I could not imagine it," he said, "but if I was able to stomach it, I would have done the same."

"He held up his part of the deal," I said, "while he was still weak. He attempted treachery in the end, of course, but there was no harm done. I escaped with only minor wounds."

We went back to the gates and stood upon them, looking out at the sea and what part of the waste could be seen, with Angband sprawling behind us.

"So, Angband," Curufin mused softly. "How time changes things! Now we hide behind Thangorodrim and Morgoth gathers his strength in the woods. And yet, what has changed, truly? We still have our oath to keep, and a bitter enemy to fight."

I faced my brother then. "I will need your help, especially in the beginning. I can bring back more of our kin, the same way I did you. But not all will accept our situation as easily as you did. You have more power in speech than I do; will you talk to them?"

Curufin sent me a sly glance. "You have craft, too, Maglor. You knew to bring me back first, and you were able to deceive Gorthaur the Deceiver himself! But yes - I will help you, brother."

And so our real work began. As the snowstorm raged outside, we fueled the fires of Angband and smoke began to rise from the mountains once more. I began building my army. It was slow going, at first. I only had strength and power to bring back one of the Noldor a night, and of course I began with the House of Fëanor. Celegorm and Curufin had the warmest reunion, and my fair brother immediately leapt to our aid. Caranthir joined us also, and Amrod and Amras when they saw us all together. They were all eager to see Maedhros again, but I was certain Maedhros would be in no hurry to leave Imladris while the dead of winter still reigned over the land.

By the time all the sons of Fëanor stood once more in Arda, I had gotten enough practice to start doubling the dose. Then I tripled it. Slowly but steadily we built up first a battalion, and then a small army, of those who had been loyal to the House of Fëanor in the past. Not all were easy to sway, but most remembered us well, and all remained, in the end. The fires burned in the halls of Angband, and the forges were active once more, and the sound of the hammer and anvil echoed in the fortress as we began to arm ourselves in preparation for the war sure to come.

After some time, Maedhros joined us, bringing word from Elrond and Galadriel. Curufin and I immediately met with him, while Caranthir still directed at the forges and Celegorm and Amrod and Amras left with our very first scouting party.

"The Greenwood in the East is dark," reported Maedhros grimly. "Spiders issue from Dol Guldur by the hundreds, and other evil things. There has been a great disturbance in Erebor, the Lonely Mountain, also, though it is unknown whether the two are linked. Olorin confronted Gorthaur in Dol Guldur, and was able to best him, in a way, though the victory was won at great price. There was, however, no sign of Morgoth."

"Our enemy is not yet ready to reveal himself," I guessed. "His escape did not go unnoticed, but he has not yet the power to challenge the Valar."

"He will go as far from the Valar as he can get, at this point," Curufin said, nodding. "Let us look at a map!"

A modern map of Arda was brought, and together we pored over it intently. The land had changed greatly since any of us had last had need of planning military strategies. I pointed out Mordor and Maedhros suggested Harad, but Curufin was silent.

Finally, he asked, "What people live in the Iron Hills?"

"Dwarves," I replied, recalling what I had read in Imladris. "Dain's folk."

"And in Ered Mithrin and Forodwaith?"

"Of old the Grey Mountains were mined by dwarves, Durin's folk, but all their strongholds have been abandoned or raided by dragons. Forodwaith is a wasteland, but some strange Men still live there."

Maedhros and I watched Curufin intently, but he only made a short humming sound and said nothing.

"Celegorm has taken charge of scouting," I said uncertainly, when it was clear Curufin had nothing more to say. "If there are disturbances in Forodwaith, we will know of them."

"Perhaps not soon enough," Maedhros said, frowning. "We need more. More of everything. We need more scouting parties, more forgers, more arms and armor, more perimeter guarding. You have rebuilt this fortress masterfully, Maglor, but it will not be enough."

"Do we have a battle to fight tomorrow at dawn?" I said irritably. "I am doing all I can, as efficiently as I can. I need more time."

"We have some," allowed Maedhros gently. "Morgoth will not have lightly forgotten his crushing defeat. His feet were hewn from under him; he will also need time. But he will not be idle, wherever he has chosen to go! Nor must we be."

I knew Maedhros was right; and that night I brought back five more of the Noldor, and gave myself to sleep only when dawn broke over the horizon. And, finally, I had the nightmare I had been awaiting with dread.

_The hall was empty, dark and cold, not overlong, and not adorned in any way, save the thick columns that ran along its length. In flowing robes, with long hair that seemed to melt into the shadows, he stood at the end, tall and great and stern. His merciless glare smote me to my core, and I fell upon my knees._

_ "You have done a terrible deed, Kanafinwë," said Mandos flatly. "Aye, more than one. I trust you are aware of the wrongness of your actions?"_

_ "Yes," I barely managed to whisper. I bowed my head, awaiting judgment._

_ "Your actions will have terrible consequences, and you will know more of grief and woe before the end," said the Vala. "And you must answer for them. Your crimes are serious, your punishment inevitable, yet I cannot pass judgment from afar. I summon you therefore to Valinor, to stand before me in my halls! How you get there is up to you - but do not tarry long, for your have less time than you know! Your fate is now bound to the fate of Arda itself; and while now dead winter reigns, war will come with the breath of spring, and blood will be shed upon the northern wastes. You would do well to be ready by then. Until we meet again, son of Fëanor, mighty Kanafinwë!"_

_ Then darkness came and I saw no more._

Next: Chapter 12: Return to Valinor


	12. Chapter 12: Return to Valinor

Chapter 12: Return to Valinor

"A summons! To Valinor?"

I nodded wearily. "I must appear in the Halls of Mandos to be judged for my actions."

Maedhros frowned. "This is unfortunate timing. We have not even half a proper army! And what will the Valar do to you? Will you be allowed to return?"

I shrugged, spreading my hands. "I don't know," I said honestly. "It seemed that way. Mandos urged me to go at once, and said that spring would bring war."

"Spring," Maedhros muttered. "That gives us little time."

"I must answer the summons. If there is any hope of gaining the assistance of the Valar…"

"Yes. You must try. But the Valar will not lightly interfere again."

"We shall see. Maedhros, you are in charge now."

"I will not fail you. We will keep a watchful eye on the Forodwaith and continue strengthening our defenses. When war comes, we will be ready for it."

I nodded.

Maedhros smiled slightly at me. "Thank you, Maglor."

"For what?"

"For releasing me from my prison. For so readily answering the threat of Morgoth. For using all the tools at your disposal. For doing what none of the rest of us would ever have been willing - or able - to do to right a wrong situation."

I did not point out that Sauron, not I, had released Maedhros from his curse. I did not point out that I so readily jumped at the opportunity to take up arms against Morgoth once more mainly because I was the cause of the threat of Morgoth being present in the first place. I did not say that I had gone to Gorthaur out of pure desperation.

But Maedhros must have read something along those lines in my face, for he put his hand firmly on my shoulder and said emphatically, "Maglor, every single Noldo in this stronghold would die for our cause in a heartbeat. Everything we do we do to fight Morgoth. Besides, in a sense, they are all already dead. They have nothing to lose. They have only to gain."

"I am grateful for their devotion and loyalty," I said, "and, honestly, a bit surprised."

Maedhros smiled wryly. "Curufin's tongue can be very eloquent." He looked at me speculatively. "How will you cross into Valinor? Only an elf-ship can bear you that far West, and finding a shipwright so skilled would require going through dangerous lands."

"No," I said firmly. "I will not go by ship."

All traces of mirth were now gone from my brother's features. "You will cross the Grinding Ice."

I shrugged. "Fingolfin did it."

"Fingolfin lost hundreds of Noldor crossing the Ice!"

"But most made it."

Maedhros sighed. "I suppose you do need to get to Valinor somehow, and no way is easy and without danger. But the way of the Helcaraxë is a long and dangerous road."

"You said it yourself. I must get there some way, and I do not run the risk of being captured by Morgoth this way."

A darkness flashed in the eyes of Maedhros at my words then, and I immediately regretted causing him pain. But his features hardened instantly, and he nodded resolutely.

"Be careful. We must be ready for anything at any time. If Morgoth shows himself, you must be ready to strike."

"I will. But you should take care, too. Not just on the Helcaraxë. Be careful in Aman."

I smiled mirthlessly. "You do not have to tell me that."

"It makes me feel better," Maedhros replied bitterly. "It makes me feel less helpless."

"Then, by all means, continue warning me."

He shoved me gently, and the mood was lightened.

"If you see Manwë, and I am certain you will, be sure to thank him for saving your worthless skin," my brother joked.

"As if he did anything. That Eagle saved me, while Manwë lounged in Valinor."

But our banter could not last. Eventually I had to make my preparations. Maedhros alone walked out of Angband to see me off, but when I looked back to wave a final farewell, I thought I saw Curufin watching from one of the towers. Either way, it was not long before Angband was beyond my sight, and all of my brothers were far away. It was not long before, once again, I was alone by the shores of the sea.

I was finally able to witness firsthand what Fingolfin and the others we had left behind on the other side of the sea, in Araman, so long ago had had to endure. I understood now why it had been so perilous and so many had been lost. The Ice was deafening; cruel, frozen winds howled like wolves as they broke upon the fangs of ice that stuck out here and there, and deep-sunken ice ground itself under my very feet. Every step had to be taken with caution; I fell more than ten times in the first hour of my journey on the waste. Navigation was a headache: vast fogs and mists of deadly cold rose up and swirled around before me, bewildering the eye, and I almost walked into the sea more than once.

And the going was perilous because the ice was treacherous. It seemed stable when truly there was only a thin, fragile layer under my feet, that would crack at the least expected moment. The very ground changed in minutes as the sea pushed it this way and that, creating spear-like protrusions and uneven terrain. Though I had taken care to dress warmly, wearing furs from wolves Celegorm had slain in the mountains, every breath of the wind seemed to turn my marrow to ice.

But eventually I found myself in Araman, and the Ice lay at my back. The light and green-and-golden fields of Valinor lay before me. I had forgotten its beauty. In my last days here, I had never paused to say farewell to the land we were all leaving. I could not now blame Finarfin for turning back. Having experienced now what I had not yet then, I would have done the same, facing the same choice. He had been the wisest of us all.

I had not gone far before I was greeted by a familiar-looking bird as one of Manwë's Great Eagles descended before me, nobler and sterner than its Ardan counterpart.

"Greetings, Macalaurë!" said he. "If you will consent to be borne by me, I have been sent by the Lord of the Skies, Manwë Sulimo, to bear you to your place of judgment. Will you fly?"

I bowed. "I would be honored." I was not surprised the Valar wanted to judge me as swiftly as they possibly could.

Therefore I climbed upon the back of the Great Eagle, and I saw Aman as none of the Eldar had ever seen it before - from the skies. Valinor was unfurled below me, in all its glory, more magnificent with more of it revealed at once. We flew over the Mansions of Manwë and Varda, and over the place where the Two Trees had once stood, glowing brightly with the light that lived now only within my father's jewels. I could see far-off Formenos and Tirion as we headed southwest, towards the Halls of Mandos.

There indeed the Eagle descended, down towards the southwestern part of the Pelori Mountains. There I was received by Manwë and Varda, and Ulmo, and, of course, Mandos, silent, dark, stern.

I could not deny that at this point the awe of flying over Valinor had utterly abandoned me, and I stood before the Valar in a state of terrible distress and anxiety. I was alone with them, silent, as they solemnly weighed my actions, the good against the bad. And it was not only the recent that they focused on. I was forced to relive all my deeds, from when we all left Valinor, as recounted in a disconcertingly succinct style by Manwë.

Then Ulmo spoke, and told of some details even I had overlooked in recalling my life, for he was even more knowledgeable in the goings-on of Arda than Manwë, for he learned from the water, which was everywhere. He had to add both good and bad, but somehow I felt better about his speech.

Varda had less to say of me, and more of the Silmarils. She revealed what I had seen in the Mirror of Galadriel - that the brightest star in the sky was not, in fact, the Silmaril that had supposedly gone to the sky, but only a shadowy copy of it. The Silmaril was kept by her in the Mansions of Manwë and Varda, and she entreated me once more to consider, if I was to unite the three, breaking them and letting their light heal the Trees once more.

But then came the turn of Mandos, and his dark words condemned me further with every syllable he spoke. He condemned my turning to darkness, and let me know that he had counted every spirit I had stolen from him. He stressed the folly of my deal with Sauron, and his words were crushing.

"Now comes the time of judgment," said Manwë when Mandos had finished. "What is to be the fate of Macalaurë Kanafinwë, son of Fëanor?"

Then they weighed my fate, and the mercy of Varda and Ulmo outweighed the stern, cold judgment of Mandos. Manwë pronounced that, though the Valar disapproved of my means, my ends were honest and honorable and, in any case, to one at least I was bound by oath. The Valar allowed me to return to Angband and continue to fight Morgoth. But my return was not to be without conditions.

Mandos refused to allow me out of his sight without receiving my solemn oath that I would never again attempt necromancy. To refute this none of the other Valar had words, so it came time for me to speak.

"Let us leave them," said Manwë. "Once Mandos is satisfied, Macalaurë may leave and go where he may choose - or stay, if he will! Farewell, Fëanorian!" And Manwë, Varda, and Ulmo left.

With a start, I realized I had been in this position before, kneeling before Mandos in his halls. I had seen this in the Mirror.

"Well, Kanafinwë?" said Mandos then. "Will you swear this thing for me, another oath to add to your collection?"

I winced at this, but straightened somewhat. "I will gladly abstain from necromancy henceforth, if you will grant me a favor in return."

"This is not a trade of oaths, son of Fëanor," replied the Vala, unmoved. "I owe you nothing."

"I do not want an oath from you, Mandos, but I nonetheless sue for your assistance. You said yourself that you know exactly how many Noldor I have taken from your halls."

"That is so, and it is a great number."

"I must respectfully disagree; the number is hardly great. Certainly not great enough to challenge Morgoth if he is able to produce even a third of his full strength. I understand why the Valar will not interfere directly in the affairs of Arda, that this war, if it comes, is ours to fight, and ours alone. But will you not aid us? Will you leave us to certain doom, and allow Morgoth to rule over all of Arda as its lord?"

Mandos stirred at that, his cold indifference broken. "I would have Morgoth in no state but bound with chains unbreakable and forever locked in the Void beyond the Door of Night, as it was before he was released."

I bowed my head, painfully aware of the fact that I had caused this to happen.

"I will not tell you not to blame yourself. You did a terrible thing, using blood magic to bind the Silmaril to your _fëa_. But Morgoth would have escaped eventually, one way or another." Mandos surveyed me dispassionately. "What would you have of me, Noldo accursed?"

"I wish you would allow me to roam within your Halls and lead a host of the Noldor out of them, and up through Valinor and across the Ice, back into Arda, to fight the dark of Morgoth and Gorthaur."

Mandos was silent for a long time, and I wondered if I had been overly bold. But finally, after long silence, he said, "You ask much, Kanafinwë. You know you ask _too_ much. But I also know the truth of your words, better than you. You have no hope of defeating Morgoth with the small force you have raised yourself. For a single Necromancer to raise an army, even were he as powerful and skilled at it as Sauron, it would take years. It is impressive as it is that you have managed to do what you have in so little time. And I would not see Morgoth as Lord of Arda. Therefore I give you leave to take with you from my Halls whatever Noldor you can find, if they will follow you. Lead them across the Ice, if you will! But take care you go in secret. Evil has no spies in Aman, but in Arda they multiply with every day."

I bowed my head, relieved almost to the point of tears. "Thank you, Mandos," I whispered.

He looked at me speculatively. "You have long been underestimated, Macalaurë," he said thoughtfully. "And long forgotten. But no longer! No songs will reach the ears of the Silvan elves of your deeds, nor those of Men nor Dwarves, but those who take part in your battles will remember you always, and never see you the same way again. You will suffer much at the hands of this war, but you will also learn and grow. Beware Sauron's treachery, and take care his poisoned words and barbs reach not the Dwarves of Arda!"

With those words spoken, Mandos left me to my own ends, and roaming his Halls I swiftly found myself having reunion after reunion. It was not long before I encountered my father, whose_ fëa_ I had tried to summon early on, but could not reach. And I found also Fingolfin, and to my amazement the two seemed to be on almost friendly terms. For whatever reconciliation they had had, I was grateful, for I would need them both.

With Fëanor and Fingolfin by my side, I gathered a sizeable host of Noldor more than willing to leave the Halls of Mandos and return to Arda, particularly when I told them of the growing threat of Morgoth returned. There was no time to tell them all of everything that had happened, but we were all bound by common cause, and with little ado we set out northeast.

So happened the March of the Noldor through Valinor, of which there was much talk and which caused much excitement for a long time after. I led the way in between Fëanor my father and Fingolfin his half-brother, and marveled all the while at their ability to exchange civil words. I almost asked what had caused them to reconcile...but decided against it, just in case. They, meanwhile, had no reservations in interrogating me, so I spoke long of what had happened since last they knew.

We hardly rested on the way, and so we made good time in getting back to Araman. As we approached the Helcaraxë, we were bidden to stay at the Mansions of Manwë and Varda before trying the Ice. So there we spent one night, and thus it was that Varda took me aside at one point to speak with me in private.

We walked together along the balconies under the stars, until Varda bade me halt.

"Your oath drives you to reclaim the Silmarils, does it not, Macalaurë?"

"It does," I said.

She smiled at me slightly. "You know I have one of them."

"Yes."

"I will give it to you. But I want you to swear something for me first."

I began to suspect I would soon start losing track of all the oaths of sworn and promises I've made. But I bowed, and asked, "And what would that be, my lady?"

"I will speak plainly with you, Macalaurë. Your blood magic had a darker effect than simply binding the Silmaril to your _fëa_ and thus allowing you to handle it without pain. It also instilled a small amount of darkness into the light contained within Fëanor's jewel. I will not deny that my greatest wish is to see the Silmarils broken and their light used to restore the Two Trees to their former glory. This may not happen. Nevertheless, in exchange for the Silmaril I keep, I would have your oath never again to use blood magic."

I sighed, but there was nothing to be done. "Very well. I swear it."

Varda produced the Silmaril and left me, alone under the stars with the Silmaril in hand. _Father, at least, will be pleased,_ I thought without happiness, and hoped that the reappearance of the Silmarils would not cause the reappearance of the rift between the houses of the Noldor. I spent the better part of the night awake, though I knew the harshness of the trip that awaited us - but I was hardly alone in that. Manwë had provided a feast, and so for a long time the sounds of rejoicing Noldor reached my ears on the balcony of Varda. But when the silence of sleep fell, I too descended and rejoined my kin. Tomorrow the Helcaraxë awaited, and beyond it, Morgoth. And it was a sure bet our enemy was not resting.

With the Silmaril tucked under me, I fell into a deep but troubled sleep.

Next: Chapter 13: The Horn of Celegorm


	13. Chapter 13: The Horn of Celegorm

Chapter 13: The Horn of Celegorm

I had started the habit of rising early and retiring late since our return to Angband. This morning was no different. I rose with the first rays of dawn and made the rounds. The forges were manned in shifts, so the fires of Angband burned all day long and all night long. All of the Noldor were tireless, and some were restless. Maedhros, I thought, slept less than I did, and ever since he had left the Halls of Mandos our father had been pushing himself and everyone around him to the limit. We were readying for war, and we were readying swiftly.

I found my father, unsurprisingly, in the bowels of the stronghold, where the brightest fires danced and the halls echoed with the sound of the hammer on the anvil, hammering bright metal into the long, lethal shape of a sword. I watched him for a few minutes, knowing better than to disturb him while he was at work, but he noticed me before long, and straightened.

"Maglor," he said, smiling.

"Father," I returned, taking this is an invitation to approach. "What are you doing?"

"Reforging Ringil for my half-brother," Fëanor admitted without relish. "I wouldn't have, but he never got it touched up - not _once_! - since it was first forged, and so it was in a pitiful state."

"I'm glad you and Fingolfin are getting along now," I said cautiously, though what I really meant was something more along the lines of _I'm glad you and Fingolfin are no longer trying to kill each other_. Details like that were often lost on my father, however. "Speaking of whom, I wanted to take counsel this morning with you and him."

Fëanor frowned, flipping Ringil on its side and looking at the white-hot blade critically. "When?"

"When convenient. Will you be finished by midmorning?"

My father snorted. "Thrice over."

I smiled. "Then midmorning?"

"I will be available. But I would not be in the least surprised if my half-brother is not."

"I'll ask him," I promised, and left my father to his work.

I set off to search for Fingolfin, but swiftly ran into - very nearly literally - my brother Caranthir, who looked extraordinarily harried and disheveled as he and I tried to round the same corner simultaneously.

"Maglor!" he cried, jumping at first with alarm and then sighing with relief. "I thought you were - never mind."

"What were you doing, Caranthir?"

"Nothing. Just - where are you heading?"

I frowned at him, but decided not to ask questions. "I was looking for Fingolfin. I don't suppose you know where I might be able to find him?"

"Oh, he's taking his breakfast in his chambers," answered Caranthir without hesitation and sidestepped me. "Good-bye, brother!"

I turned, but my brother's swiftly-retreating back was already far away. I finally rounded the corner and saw, at the end of the hall, the back of Turgon, who was moving hastily in the opposite direction. I refrained from making assumptions, but continued rather less hastily in the same direction, for that way lay also the chambers of Turgon's father.

Fingolfin was indeed finishing his meal when I was admitted into his chambers, and it came upon me to wonder how, in fact, Caranthir had known so specifically what our uncle was doing at the time, but I pushed my suspicions out of my mind. Now was no time for familial drama.

"Maglor! How are things?"

"Well, so far. But I would take counsel with you and my father, two greatest of the Noldor. There are some important matters I wish to discuss with you, and with my brother Maedhros."

"I would be glad to offer my counsel," said Fingolfin, "though I do not doubt Fëanor and I will disagree."

Fingolfin agreed to meet me and my brother and father in counsel at the appointed time, so I left to find Maedhros, to refine our mutually constructed agenda. It did not take me long to find him, for he had also been seeking me.

"Making the rounds, as usual, Maglor?"

"Every day we make more progress. Yet we are not ready."

"There has been no sign of Morgoth, but our scouts have reported a darkening of the southeast part of Forodwaith. The winter, though passing, seems to cling to the land in a manner atypical for the coming of spring. Curufin has been spending much time upon the watchtowers, now that he is no longer so needed at the forges, and has perceived that this winter will be long and dark and not eager to pass."

"That may be a sign of Morgoth's influence growing. We shall see what our father and Fingolfin think of it."

Maedhros smiled slightly at this. "I must say, I am glad to see peace in the House of Finwë. It seems it hasn't been this way since…"

"Ever?" I suggested.

"Ever," agreed Maedhros. "Now we know - the Halls of Mandos truly do change people."

"We'll see by how much soon enough. _Ada_ and Fingolfin have both agreed to meet with us at midmorning, and we had better have a clear focus. We can't just ask them what they think we should do next, because they'll just bicker endlessly."

"You're right. We can handle the maintenance. I want to know what they think about the threat of Morgoth. What should we do about that, specifically?"

"Yes. Good. The narrower the better. All that is left is to hope they will argue civilly, for argue they most certainly will."

Midmorning came and went, and I found that I had been absolutely right. We assembled peacefully enough, and Fëanor presented his half-brother with the reforged Ringil, at which Fingolfin appropriately marveled and thanked Fëanor profusely. But then Maedhros and I brought up our topic of discussion, and the bickering immediately broke out. We soon got to the heart of the matter: Fëanor wanted to attack, but Fingolfin wanted to wait.

"Morgoth is weak," insisted my father. "We are already strong, and getting stronger every day. We should seek him out, in whatever hole he has hidden himself, and empty Angband, ride out, and attack head-on."

"_No_," Fingolfin returned, alarmed at his half-brother's warmongering. "We are strong _here_, but in the field - who knows? We should wait. We do not even know where Morgoth is. It may be that he has raised a stronghold greater even than Angband, and legions at his command. We know nothing of what happens beyond Forodwaith. We are not yet strong enough to take on Morgoth directly. We must be cautious, and bide our time."

More was said, but nothing was decided, and at long last I was forced to hastily cut off the discussion, for by the end my father and Fingolfin seemed ready to fight it out. Fëanor stalked off in a wrathful state of mind, and Fingolfin did not tarry long with me and my brother.

"Well," said Maedhros when we were alone again, "that helped not at all."

"I'm not sure what I was expecting," I admitted with a heavy sigh. "They seemed to be on friendly terms; but our father and Fingolfin are like fire and water, I think, constantly in opposition and naturally intolerant of each other's company."

"But what do we do in the meantime? Or do we do nothing, as Fingolfin suggested, but watch and wait?"

"Now watching and waiting will seem like we agree with Fingolfin, and disregard the advice of our father."

"But what can we do? Surely he can be moved to reason."

I grimaced, rueful that we had not seen our mother on our journey through Aman - but I suspected that, even if we had run into Nerdanel, she would have refused to accompany us. She used to be the only one who could make our father see reason. "Perhaps Curufin can talk to him," I said finally. "I will ask him."

Maedhros and I parted ways, he to see to his duties, and I to seek out my craftiest brother. I searched for near an hour, but nobody had seen him; finally, Finrod Felagund pausing in his meeting with emissaries to be sent to the dwarves of the Iron Hills told me that Curufin had stopped by and mentioned something about going by the southeast watchtower to look upon the waste. I hurried there then, and indeed found my brother at long last, standing by an open window at the top of the tower, heedless of the freezing wind, gazing keenly out over the mountains.

"How long have you been up here?" I asked when we had exchanged succinct greetings, marking the snow in Curufin's dark hair.

"Long enough," he replied.

"Long enough for what?"

"Long enough for Celegorm's lateness to become significant." Curufin finally turned away from the window to regard me seriously. "He set out with a group of his hunter-scouts at dawn, and the route they were to take was not a long one. A routine check of a trail now well-known to us. He is overlong in returning, I think, for something so simple."

I stepped up to the window, as well, and crossing my arms over my chest leaned out for a vain look, as if I would see Celegorm with his golden hair shining in the pale sunlight, leading his scouts back through the gates. Of course, I saw no such thing. The road to Angband's gates was empty and forlorn.

"I know what you would say," said Curufin, watching me carefully. "Celegorm can take care of himself. But are we not living under the threat of Morgoth? If he was ambushed, or…"

"No," I said firmly, turning back to him. "I'm sure Celegorm is fine. And if something _has_ happened, we will know about it soon enough. There is still time for him to return. Perhaps they turned off the main trail for a hunt. Or else one of their steeds broke a leg. Really, Curufin, there are so many things that may have delayed Celegorm."

"One thing gives me solace," agreed Curufin thoughtfully. "If he were in trouble, Celegorm would have blown his horn, and the sound of it would have carried to Angband even were he one hundred leagues from here."

"Exactly. I'm certain Celegorm is fine. Now, will you come down? _Atar_ and Fingolfin had...well, not a fight, exactly, but a...disagreement, shall we say, with regards to what we should do now, in terms of answering the threat of Morgoth. In short, our father would have us ride out at once in full strength, empty Angband, and seek out Morgoth, wherever he may be, and assault him. Obviously, we cannot do that at the present. Will you speak to him, and talk some reason into him?"

Curufin smiled slightly. "I can try, but I do not guarantee success."

"I understand, but of the seven of us, you are the one most attune to his mood and mind."

"I don't know whether to thank you for the compliment or feel slighted."

"It's neither good, nor bad. It simply is."

"Diplomatically spoken, Maglor."

"Thank you. I've become better with words, I've found, of late."

"You must have had practice weaving them during those long years by the sea."

"Not much practice using them, however."

"No doubt. To whom would you have spoken? The fish?"

"I tried, believe me, but they are not a particularly verbose crowd."

Curufin opened his mouth as if to reply, but at that moment we both heard a clear, bold note sing over the mountains, the sound of a powerful horn being winded. It came again, but was swiftly cut off the second time, and did not sound again.

Curufin wordlessly ran from the room, and I threw myself after him, sprinting at his heels. We hastily assembled a party of anyone whom we met on our way and who was available, and set out with fifteen riders, among whom were also Amras and Finrod Felagund. I had noted the place from which the sound of Celegorm's horn seemed to have originated, and Curufin had besides recalled which path Celegorm's party was to follow, so it was not long before we came upon the stale field of skirmish.

We all dismounted so as not to contaminate the tracks and spread out. It was quickly determined that Celegorm's party had been on the way back to Angband when they were ambushed. Celegorm had ridden out with thirty of his scouts, and almost all lay annihilated on the ground, surrounded by many dead Orcs. Only five remained alive, three of whom had sustained serious wounds.

Amras, kneeling suddenly nearby, called out, and I immediately crossed over to him.

"What is it?"

Amras stood, and in his hands he held an intricately crafted golden horn, cloven into three parts. "It seems we know now why he wound his horn only twice."

My attention was diverted by Curufin's voice mixed with the voices of Celegorm's scouts. I began moving towards them, but Finrod Felagund caught my arm along the way.

"Maglor," he said, "Cevenor is mortally wounded."

I shook my arm free of Finrod's grasp. "Bind his wounds and treat him as best you can with what supplies we have."

"He needs immediate treatment. I will ride with him back to Angband."

"No!" I snapped. "This was no accidental skirmish; it was an ambush. Celegorm was unprepared. You cannot ride out alone."

Finrod said something in reply, but I was already moving towards Curufin, whose iron calm seemed to be shattering before my eyes.

"What do you mean?" he pressed, speaking to the tall, fair-haired Noldo I often saw by Celegorm's side but whose name escaped me. "How could you simply _lose track_ of him?"

"We were outnumbered; every one of us was fighting three Orcs at any one time!" the other replied, and the others around him nodded and murmured words of agreement.

"I saw Lord Celegorm last, I believe," said the Noldo who stood behind him then, and I recognized Remlasson, who had once ridden with me in the early days of the war against Morgoth. "I glimpsed him late in the battle, fighting a huge, scarred Orc on one side, as another seemed to creep up behind him on his other. But I could not help him, for the battle prevented me from coming to his aid."

Curufin took a deep breath, but I laid a hand on his shoulder, stopping whatever words he would have said. "We found his horn," I said quietly.

"_Ai_!" said Remlasson, who heard. "Then he has fallen!"

"No," I said firmly. "Celegorm is not among the dead." This I said more loudly, daring anyone to contradict me. But no one did.

Curufin turned to me. "We must go after him. We must find him, whether he has fallen or not."

"Where did you last see him? Can you point out the place?" I began to ask Remlasson, but at that point Amras hailed me once more, and I crossed to where he stood on the edge of the skirmish, and Curufin followed, hot on my heels.

"There are heavy tracks here," Amras said, pointing them out. "And someone has been dragged. This is near where I found Celegorm's horn. It may be that he was taken."

Curufin growled something in my ear about how we had to go after him, and Remlasson and the fair-haired companion of Celegorm echoed him. But at that time I was once again hailed by Finrod and another near him, entreating me to allow them to return with the wounded.

One thing was clear: we could not stay here. I also could not allow my brother to possibly be captured by Morgoth, for a number of reasons, not least of which was that he was my brother. But also if Morgoth were to learn of what we had been doing in his old stronghold…

But then I could not leave the wounded Noldor to die of their wounds. Nor could I allow Finrod to return to Angband by himself, with long miles between us and safety, miles potentially guarded by straggling Orcs, who were wary of a band of Noldor charging along the road.

Everyone looked to me to make a choice, but I knew not what to do. Choosing between two evil paths was hardly a choice at all; the entirety of the choice lay in choosing the lesser of the two.

So did I condemn to slow death the faithful survivors of the ambush? Or did I leave Celegorm my brother to potential torture? As the Noldor looked on, I hardened my heart and spoke my decision. I left no room for negotiation.

Next: Chapter 14: Hunters Hunted


	14. Chapter 14: Hunters Hunted

Chapter 14: Hunters Hunted

As was his wont, Curufin waited until everyone else had spoken with heat and passion and general relative ineloquence before working his magic and making the rest of the High Elves look like fools. But though he spoke not long, his words were of fire, and he ended with the bottom line: "If you think you're going after our brother personally, Maglor, then I am coming with you."

I had planned to refuse to negotiate, but I knew Curufin would not step down, so I made this small concession and it was decided. Finrod and Amras gathered the rest of our party and those of Celegorm's who still lived and rode back to Angband, and Curufin and I set out after Celegorm.

Once we started moving, we were able to cover a good deal of ground by nightfall, but though we made haste, Curufin criticized me the entire way until we stopped.

"What in the name of Eru were you thinking, saying that you would set out after Celegorm alone?"

"I told you - a single hunter may pass unnoticed in the shadows past a rabble of thundering Orcs. A party of hunters, not so much."

"Very well, that is sound logic, but you cannot just _say_ that in front of Finrod Felagund! The son of Finarfin is loyal to the very end, but has little sense, as you know well. Else he would not have aided Beren in the manner he did. I could have told him back in Nargothrond that it would have ended the way it did. And what do you suppose you'll do if we're caught, or if Celegorm has already been killed?"

"No. He is alive. Why would the Orcs make such haste dragging a dead body?"

"What does it matter why? Perhaps as a trophy."

"You have no faith or optimism, Curufin."

"And you have too much."

But we were light-footed and followed the trail of the Orcs precisely, and so it was not long before we caught up to them.

"Let us wait a while in the shadows," Curufin whispered to me. "Watch, wait, and strike when they least expect it."

I thought this was sound counsel, so we settled down in the shadows when the Orcs halted to make camp when the sun began to rise with the new day. They were within a cave, but the mouth of it faced us, so we could see what went on inside. Though Curufin and I could hear well enough, we understood not a word, save for when they addressed Celegorm, whose face and hair were caked with dried blood from a wound near his temple, and whose wrists were bound. But Celegorm fumed silently and did not answer the jeers of his captors.

"They will set up a watch system for the day," Curufin predicted, "and then those Orcs who do not have the first watch will sleep, for they cover ground best at night."

So it was. We did not have to wait long before the Orcs tired of their fruitless sport of taunting Celegorm, and did as Curufin said they would. Curufin and I readied ourselves in the rapidly retreating shadows and began to decide how best to approach the cave. Finally we made up our minds and snuck around to the edge of the mouth of the cave. Then we struck.

It was not a long fight, but it was a chaotic one. The Orcs shrieked at us in their harsh language as we charged in, and confusion reigned. Celegorm shouted insults until I came and cut his bonds, at which point he picked up the closest weapon - an Orc scimitar - and began waving it around with lethal and furious strength. Within minutes, we stood in a cave filled with Orc bodies, and I lowered my sword.

But then Celegorm cried out and ran past me, and I whirled in time to see two Orcs hurrying away, fleeing. But Curufin stopped him at the entrance, for our brother had begun to reel from the wound on his head, which had reopened and was bleeding freely.

"But they're getting away!" Celegorm snarled, ready to push Curufin out of the way in his haste for vengeance.

"And you're going to kill yourself, one way or another, if you keep after them," Curufin returned, shoving him none too gently down onto the ground.

I winced and hurried to my wounded brother's side, tearing off a piece of fabric and pressing it to his wound. "Please lie still, Celegorm. Curufin is right, and you know he is."

"No, you don't understand," Celegorm told us angrily. "They know about Angband!"

Curufin also kneeled by Celegorm. "What? How could they know?"

"I -" Celegorm scowled. "I accidentally - I threatened them, when they refused to release me, when they bound me, and I said - I let slip that -"

"Sh, you're making it worse," I said, trying to bind the piece of fabric I had pressed to his wound so that it would stay. Besides, he had said everything necessary to communicate his point. The Orcs knew about Angband because Celegorm had threatened that an army of his kin would come after him if they tried anything.

"Where is my sword?" Celegorm muttered sullenly, and Curufin found it and brought it to him. "Forgive me, Maglor."

"It was not done out of malicious intent," I assured him, "so there is nothing to forgive."

"But something must be done," Curufin said softly.

I stood and faced him. "His wound is serious."

"Yes. It must be treated, and soon." Curufin met my gaze levelly. "One of us must take Celegorm back to Angband; the other must go after the two that escaped and silence them."

"Curufin," I began to say.

But Curufin held up a hand. "I know what you would say. But this is a task for a hunter, and, Maglor, you are no hunter. I am."

"Hunting? No. Not much. I am more powerful than you are, Curufin. If something goes wrong, I will have a better chance of surviving it than you, on your own. Besides, we will need every skilled hunter to be out combing the mountains now, conserving the secret of Angband."

Curufin glowered. "No. You have risked your life enough, and you started this. Our people look to you to lead."

"We have our father now, and Fingolfin. We have lords and leaders and warriors numerous. The Noldor can look to them. Go, take Celegorm back. We cannot waste time."

Curufin gritted his teeth, but seeing that I would not be persuaded relented. "They will not have gotten far," he said. "Traveling by daylight hurts them."

So it was decided. Curufin set off at once with Celegorm, and I set off after the Orcs. Though at first their trail was evident even to an untrained eye, at one point it seemed to taper off, or go in several different directions, and I regretted not going hunting with my brothers more often when there was time. I also realized that I had been traveling perhaps too openly, but then, Orcs so rarely moved in daylight, so I was probably safe.

I followed the trail, or what I hoped was the trail, the entire day, but when nightfall came, I had to find somewhere to spend the night, or at least part of the night. If I saw some sign of the Orcs, that would be a stroke of fortune indeed, but if I didn't, I would do better to stay hidden, I knew, for they would have the advantage in the dark. So I found a cave and, after carefully searching it, settled down to rest.

I could not recall the exact point at which I fell asleep, but I was woken during some time in the night by harsh Orc voices nearby. I immediately thanked my good sense that I hadn't lit a fire, but they were still too close for comfort. If they entered the cave, I would have no way out. So I slipped out and began making my way in the opposite direction, but somehow in the midst of the mountain paths - or lack thereof - and in the darkness I must have gotten turned around, for I passed close to them and unwittingly revealed myself.

They saw me before I noticed them, and sprang on me with drawn, dark scimitars. My sword was in my hand before I had time to realize I was being attacked, and my instincts saved my life in the nick of time. I was able to dispose of one almost immediately, but even as I stabbed through the armor I knew I was leaving myself open for the other to attack.

The Orc growled as he raised his scimitar to skewer me, and my own sword was stuck in the armor of the first. I ducked under the blow, releasing my sword for the time being, and grappled with him briefly, but he was stronger and larger than I, and he threw me down beside his fallen companion.

I waited for the killing blow, but instead the Orc that stood over me turned partially away from me and howled a few harsh, evil-sounding words, and I took advantage, yanking my sword free and running him through.

But then I realized his design, for his words had been a call to his kinsmen hidden nearby. I fought desperately, but I was surrounded and eventually overpowered. My wrists and ankles were bound with rough, cruelly tight rope. The Orcs wasted no time. I was picked up without ceremony and slung over the back of one, and in this manner they took me and went on their way.

Our journey lasted a few nights, long enough that by the end I knew my brothers had already realized that I had probably gotten into trouble, but the thought did not give me much hope. I marked our progress and knew where we had gone, though we traveled only by night and the land was unknown to me, and I asked no geographical questions. Much of the journey was through the mountains, but the last section took us through part of Forodwaith, until we came at last to what I knew could only be the Iron Hills.

From there the Orcs took me to a stronghold not deep within the mountains, a tall, dark tower atop a much smaller hill than those around it. Though I had been scarcely spoken to before, now the Orcs were eager to speak to me, and describe to me the tortures that awaited me within at the hand of their master, and they named the stronghold Minas Ang-Emyn, Tower of Iron-Hill, garbling the name with their fell tongues. By the time we crossed into it, I was indeed greatly apprehensive, for I feared that I was to be taken to Morgoth.

But there was no sign of the fell Vala within. I was dragged immediately to the dungeons, and chained, and for a while left alone.

Indeed, I was left alone for so long that I almost lost consciousness, dragged towards sleep by utter exhaustion. My chains did not allow me to lie down, but there was enough slack that I could sink to my knees. This I did, and closed my eyes against the darkness, and for some time I could almost forget the horror of my position.

But then he came, the master of Minas Ang-Emyn, and I recognized his voice when he spoke before I even saw him.

"I confess I did not expect to ever have the pleasure of your company again, Kanafinwë."

I flinched at the sound of that voice, and I lifted my head to look upon him. He had preserved the form he had managed to take with my help, with flaming eyes and dark hair, and he was clothed in black armor, with a red eye painted on the front. "You," I managed.

Sauron smiled at me, and his smile seemed to cut me like a knife. "Me," he agreed. "And you, Kanafinwë, I must say, have looked better."

"No thanks to you and your Orcs."

"It serves you right," said Sauron, drawing close. I struggled to my feet. "You _broke_ your oath!"

"I did not!" I asserted. "You held my oath fulfilled! What I did after - that had nothing to do with the oath."

Sauron struck my feet from under me, and my chains pulled me up short from hitting the ground, painfully biting into the skin of my wrists, which was already roughened from the Orcs' treatment. "And after I kept my part of the deal so faithfully. Speaking of which, have you been putting your new knowledge to good use?"

I wondered at this. Did he know, or suspect? Or was he simply seeking confirmation that he had forced a son of Fëanor into darkness. I tried to get up again, but Sauron forced me back to my knees, so I cursed him in anger, but he only laughed.

"And tell me, what of fierce Nelyafinwë?" Sauron prompted, kneeling to my level and grasping my chin in a painfully unyielding grip, forcing me to look into his face. "How did your dear brother react to your dealing with me?"

"Badly," I snarled, resolving to play his need for validation for all I could. "He cursed me for turning to darkness and left to join our cousin Galadriel. Is that what you wanted to hear, Gorthaur? Well, now you have heard it."

Sauron laughed. "That is well. I predicted it thus. But what were you doing in the mountains so far north, all alone? Did you tire of the sea?"

"I was hunting," I spat. "Hunting _Orcs_."

Sauron smiled and released me, standing. "So oft to the unwary hunters become the hunted," he said, the doors behind him opened, and Orcs poured in. "Welcome back to the hospitality of Sauron the Great, Maglor son of Fëanor! We hope you enjoy your stay."

Next: Chapter 15: The Finding of the Silmaril


	15. Chapter 15: The Finding of the Silmaril

Chapter 15: The Finding of the Silmaril

The last strike of the whip finally tore a cry from my throat, and I could no longer keep my pain at bay. This was apparently all Sauron wanted, at least for the time being, for he gave the cold command to stop. I swayed slightly back and forth, hanging by my wrists from the ceiling, as he approached to stand before me, a smirk on his fair but evil face, and I wanted to strike the smile from his face.

"How the mighty have fallen," he almost _purred_ at me. "I will not lie to you, Kanafinwë: I am enjoying this. And how I love to hear your voice. You have been using it so sparingly."

"You want to hear my voice?" I snarled, and cursed him colorfully and, I thought, rather creatively.

But Sauron only laughed. "You will not say such words when I have broken you! I will have you on your knees before me, humble and compliant, without thought or power to rebel, before the end. And then you will make a pretty gift for my master. The halls of his new fortress in the Mountains in the East are far from grand as Angband was in the glorious days of old, but they will suffice, and Morgoth's thralls will decorate them nicely."

I flinched at the mention of Angband, but Sauron was too distracted by his schemes and daydreams to notice. "_Break_ me?" I sneered to cover quickly. "You will never break me! Your master could not break Maedhros, and he had him for years. I have seen the light of Aman of old, and the Fëanorian fire burns bright within me. You will never break me, thrall of Morgoth!"

Sauron laughed no more. He walked around me, until he stood behind me, and then he sank his nails into the open wounds on my back, and they burned. I could not stop the scream that ripped from my throat.

"You have overestimated your own strength and power for the last time, Maglor!" Sauron snarled directly into my ear.

I flinched away from him, as far as my awkward position allowed me to, and did not reply, catching my breath.

"Use the brands next," Sauron commanded to the Orc who was in charge of my torture, and swept past me to leave.

"_A Elbereth! Gilthoniel! silivren penna miriel o menel aglar elenath_!"

Sauron froze in his tracks, while the Orcs around him snarled and covered their ears. Slowly, the dark lord turned to face me once more, and the gleam in his eyes told me he accepted my challenge.

I began to weave my song, and I put forth my power, calling upon the sweet memories I held of Aman, of light and wonder, of friendship and trust, of all that was good and just in the world. And the Orcs, though they did not understand my words, understood well enough to meaning behind them, as my song called visions to dance before their eyes, and they cowered, incapacitated.

But Sauron was not so easily cowed; for he also had seen Aman, and had refused its grace. In answer he chanted of gathering darkness, of the dark night and the moon veiled, of shadows dancing, of swift ambush and treachery, and knives flashing. He chanted of whips cracking, of chains clinking, of slaves mourning and captives crying. He sang of freedom that was but a dream, of light that was a shadow, of hope that was vain.

In answer I put forth all my power, and called upon the fire that burned bright within me, and nursed it with my anger and desperation. My bonds were broken as I sang of fighting, of uprising, of revolution, of standing even in the absence of hope. I stood tall before him and my voice rang out, clearer than ever it had been before, as I called upon Manwë's fierce winds and Ulmo's crashing waves and the great strength of Tulkas. I sang of Fingon rescuing Maedhros, of Fingolfin gleaming as a star under Morgoth's shadow, of Luthien and Beren in Angband. I sang of the Great Battle and the Host of Valinor, of the destruction of Angband and Thangorodrim breaking...and Sauron fled before me and disappeared into the shadows.

I lost no time in following. The Orcs would not need long to realize what had happened and to go after me. I recovered my sword from where it leaned against the wall and with it in my hand I cut my way through the dark halls, screaming in the fair tongue of the High Elves of old, and from the way they ran from me I knew a fell light was in my eyes. Though I had been partially stripped, I was not cold, for I felt as if with fever, fey and ferocious and feral. None barred my way and lived.

Once out of Minas Ang-Emyn, my only thought was to conceal myself somewhere, and to get as far away from Sauron as possible. Therefore I swiftly lost myself in the mountains, and the sounds of pursuit faded away. I taught the hosts of Gorthaur that it was difficult to hunt a barefooted elf who did not want to be found.

But my dire situation was made no less clear to me in solitude. Of my weapons I had only my naked sword, and the cold of the mountains swiftly seeped into my bones through my largely uncovered skin. Sharp rocks dug painfully into the soft pads of my feet and I limped along, wincing, careful not to allow as little of my blood to drip onto the rocks as possible.

But luck was with me. Soon I wandered out of the Iron Hills and saw in the distance, close enough to reach within a day, even on foot, the Lonely Mountain, a single, solitary, tall peak, snowcapped, where within lay the Dwarven Kingdom of Erebor. It was my only hope.

By the time I reached Erebor, the blood on my back had dried and cracked with every step I took. I was exhausted, and every step caused me agony. I was spotted and hailed by the guards of the kingdom, and immediately helped inside and brought to Dain, King Under the Mountain.

"Maglor, High King of the Noldor," a dwarf boomed as I was led into the great hall.

I started at that title, and at the fact that everyone seemed to know my name, but had not the energy to ask.

King Dain himself came down from his throne to assist me, and together three dwarves eased me gently onto the steps before his kingly seat. There we spoke, while healers set to work on my back.

"Welcome, Maglor of the Noldor," said Dain gravely. "I fear your appearance under the mountain is a sign of dark times coming."

"How - how do you know me?" I asked, gritting my teeth against the stinging pain as healers patted the wounds on my back with fabric soaked in alcohol.

"Your emissaries came a few days before you," Dain replied. "They explained what you had done - and what we have to fear in the days to come. Know that the Dwarves of Erebor are your allies in this war against the shadow. But before I let you rest, I must know - from where do you come to us in such a state?"

"Minas Ang-Emyn, it is called," I replied with a grimace. "Sauron rules there now, having moved from Dol Guldur. It is not deep within the Iron Hills."

"Then it is near where my people used to live," Dain mused. "Then Sauron is returned, as we have heard. And what of the Great Enemy?"

"Yes, Sauron mentioned something about Morgoth residing in the Mountains in the East," I said, and hissed as one of my wounds was reopened.

Dain turned to his healers and barked something in Khuzdul. Bowing slightly to me, he said, "I will let the healers take you now and when they are finished you may rest. Sleep well, King of the Noldor!"

I meant to ask about that title, but I was dragged away to a guestroom and bathed. My wounds were dressed and I was given food and wine, and soon I fell into a long, deep sleep.

Upon waking, I felt much better, and the pain of my wounds was reduced to a dull ache. I found new clothes laid out beside my bed, clearly newly-made, for they were my size and both noble and practical. A sheath there was also, for my sword that I had been forced to carry in hand the entire way, and a new weapon, a long, curved dagger with dwarvish runes running along its length. I smiled at the gesture, and dressing buckled it on with the belt and sword.

At this point a knock came, and I answered. A messenger came in, bowed, and said, "The King wishes to see you, if you are ready."

"I will come at once," I said, and followed him.

The messenger led me once more to Dain's hall, where the King bade me breakfast with him. I accepted gratefully.

"I must thank you for all you have done for me," I said, seeing only in the light of morning just how much it was. "You did not have to take me in. I could have come from anywhere, and you did not know that I was not followed."

"You are the High King of the Noldor returned," Dain responded. "We are allies against a mutual enemy, and anything I can do to thwart Sauron's return I will do."

"Yes, about that," I said carefully, "I am not sure where you got the impression that I was the leader of the Noldor."

"So the emissaries from Angband called you," Dain said, as if that closed the matter. "If the people think of you as their leader, then their leader you are."

I took a drink to hide my confusion. Had the Noldor named me High King in my absence? But why would they, with so many more fit leaders to choose from and knowing I may never return?

"This business of Minas Ang-Emyn troubles me greatly," Dain continued. "I have kin still in the Iron Hills, and I worry now what has become of them. After Thorin son of Thrain son of Thror won back the Lonely Mountain from the dragon Smaug, I moved many of my people here, but many also were left behind."

"What became of Thorin?" I asked curiously.

"He died in the Battle of Five Armies that was fought before the mountain," said Dain, "may he rest with Mahal. He is buried here, with the brilliant Arkenstone that gave him the right to rule my people and that was recovered from Smaug's hoard, first of all his treasures!"

I almost spilled my drink. "The what?"

"The Arkenstone," Dain repeated, seeming lost in thought. "Ah, and a brilliant gem it was! White, with its own light, and reflecting in a thousand facets light from outside, too."

_Arkenstone_. I felt a thrill go through me at the name. _Could it be?_ "I would pay my respects to Thorin," I said then, bowing my head.

"You are kind, Lord Maglor," Dain said. "It shall be done!"

After we finished our meal, Dain made good on his word, and took me to the tomb of Thorin, and ordered it to be opened. In the center of his grand stone coffin the Silmaril shone, bathing the chamber with its brilliant light. It seemed to call me forth, and I took a step forward, my hand drifting up…

Then the bells began to ring. "Attack! Erebor is under attack!" came the shouts, and Dain ran from the tomb.

I was alone.

Next: Chapter 16: Sign of Morgoth


	16. Chapter 16: Sign of Morgoth

Chapter 16: Sign of Morgoth

"What is it?"

"Orcs, closing in fast."

I grimaced. "This is my fault," I murmured. "They must have followed me."

Dain shook his head. "You are guilty of no malicious crime, Maglor."

"I would not bring destruction to Erebor. Give me a horse, and I will draw them off."

"That is suicide, Noldo!"

"No. I can make it. I know the mountains." That was, of course, a lie, but I had to try. For one thing, I did not relish being stuck inside a besieged mountain. For another, I had to get back to Angband as soon as possible to warn the Noldor of Morgoth's strength and stronghold in the East. "One horse, that is all I ask." The other thing I had already taken, for it was mine by blood right, and so I did not ask for it. I doubted the Dwarves would miss it until I was well away.

Dain gave the command and I was on a horse riding straight for the small army headed towards the Lonely Mountain before anyone could talk any sense into me.

I drove the steed given to me by Dain hard, but he was strong and fast. I drew near enough to the army that I was noticed, and coarse Orc-shouts rose up. Then I angled acutely back towards the mountains, and willingly they gave chase. At first I had the advantage, for I was horsed, but once I reached the Iron Hills I had to dismount, and I spared a swift hope that the animal would find its way back home, and somehow by some miracle evade the fell creatures at my heels.

Instinctively my feet retraced the paths I had taken to get out of the mountains, and even though I tried to steer away and find other ways, the mountains were such that I had quite by accident found the only path out, at least in this section of the mountains, when I was running from my captors, and that same path I was now forced to take once more.

Therefore I found myself running straight back into the waiting arms of Gorthaur. Drawing close to Minas Ang-Emyn, I found myself having to perform more and more risky maneuvers to avoid the Orcs outside the fortress. When I glimpsed the tower before me, I lost hope. No matter which way I turned, Orcs leapt in front of me, brandishing their weapons, and there was nowhere left to run but towards the tower.

"STOP!"

Apparently my voice had lost none of its potency. My powerful, cold shout bounced off the rocks and magnified in the mountain pass, and the chaos around me ground to a momentary halt.

I took a deep breath. There was only one thing I could do, and that was to take the same road Fingolfin had. I imagined my decision now was nothing like his. Fingolfin had perceived the fall of the Noldor, and had made a desperate but thought-out decision, and had gone valiantly to his doom. My decision was impulsive, and born of desperation and a selfish desire to never be tortured again.

"SAURON!" I cried, as loudly and obnoxiously as I could. "I SEE YOUR DESIGN, YOU COWARD! YOU WOULD SEND YOUR MINIONS AFTER ME SOONER THAN YOU WOULD STAND AGAINST ME YOURSELF! AND YOU ARE RIGHT TO DO SO! YOU KNOW I AM THE MORE POWERFUL, YOU WITLESS, SIMPLE THRALL! SIT IN YOUR TOWER, SPINELESS CRAVEN, AND LET THIS MINDLESS RABBLE DO YOUR DIRTY WORK!"

More and colorful words I was able to scream before Sauron came out, but I attributed that to the fact that he had probably been up at the top of his tower, watching from above. I had started to enjoy myself, as the Orcs around me gaped uncertainly, but then he arrived, and I was obliged to fall silent.

Sauron was not amused. He was clad in his black armor, and a lofty black helm rested on his head. In his hands he clutched a huge, spiked mace that looked to weigh about half as much as I did. All the better. He would be slowed, I knew, by that cumbersome weapon, and I was swift.

But as the Orcs drew around us, making a ring, Sauron smiled and cast aside the mace and drew instead a long, dark sword, with flames that licked along its length. He raised it high, and in response I raised also my own blade, ready to fight and die, if need be. I knew only that I would not be captured alive again.

"You fool," Sauron said, laughing. "Do you want to die?"

"I would rather die than be a thrall of Morgoth!" I shouted, and sprang forward.

If he was surprised, Sauron did not show it. Snarling, the Dark Lord caught my blade on his easily, and pushed me backwards. Now came his turn to attack. He struck hard, and though I parried, the force of the impact jarred me to my core, and I felt as though my very bones were vibrating. I ducked out of the way and slashed out in turn.

Back and forth we traded strikes and parries, but each time I had to defend myself was harder than the last. Still I fought on, and putting forth my power I began to gain the upper hand. My slashes and strikes became greater and heavier, and Sauron's fewer. Fear began to show in his flaming eyes, and that only encouraged me. The Orcs snarled around us, but I laughed, and advanced.

Then an evil-seeming horn sounded, and I was distracted. Sauron feinted, throwing himself forward. I jumped back, but he was already turning and fleeing. I almost made to pursue him into the tower when I heard the roar.

Slowly I turned and the Orcs around me scattered, chattering in fearful tones in their dark tongue.

"Eru save me," I whispered.

Coming through the pass was a huge, dark shape wreathed in flames, horned and winged. I knew it. A Balrog had come from Morgoth to Minas Ang-Emyn, for what reason I could not hope to guess, but I knew now its attention was fixed upon me, standing now alone in the field of carnage, having forced the master of the tower to flee back to safety. This was a different kind of foe. I did the only thing I could. I raised my sword and prepared to fight for my life.

The Balrog of Morgoth wielded a whip in one huge hand and a scimitar as long as my body in the other. Both were of shadow and flame. I knew I had no hope of standing my ground, so as it approached I began to dance this way and that, leaping first one way and then the other. Huge as it was, it was slower than I, though I knew that if I let it land even one blow it would mean my end, for I had neither strength to parry nor a shield to absorb the impact. The longer we were locked in battle, the angrier it became. I knew I had to escape swiftly.

At last I was able to turn it around, dashing so near I risked catching its fire, and then weaving out again. _There! _I saw the opening of the pass and did not hesitate, hurling myself towards it in a flat-out sprint. I heard the Balrog roar behind me and leap forward in pursuit, but I had luck on my side; I was close already to the pass, and slipping between the rock walls I evaded it, and slipped away into the mountains. As the sounds of the demon's pursuit faded, I imagined I heard Sauron's scream of fury on the wind - but it could have been the howling of breeze as the air broke upon the rocks above and around me.

I had escaped Minas Ang-Emyn twice, and its master thrice. I did not suppress my smile as I hurried along the pass. I had indeed grown more powerful, far more so than Sauron could ever have intended or even feared. I had challenged him, and he had fled before me. There was hope yet.

But now I had to get back to Angband. The Silmaril weighed heavily where I had concealed it, a constant reminder of what had driven me from the shores of the land and what pushed me onward. Once I returned, the three could be reunited once again, for the first time since one was stolen from Morgoth's crown by Luthien and Beren son of Barahir. And the Oath would be fulfilled at last, after all these long and bloody ages.

And then the war would come. There was no escaping it now. Morgoth was preparing in the east, gathering darkness to him and building an army, readying himself to besiege Arda once more. The secret of Angband risen had not yet reached the ever eager ears of the Lord of Minas Ang-Emyn and his master, but it was only a matter of time. Either we sat in Angband and allowed Morgoth to besiege us at his leisure, or we marched across Forodwaith and came to him.

I put my hand to where the last Silmaril was hidden and grimly hardened my heart, determined to make it to Angband without stopping once. I had seen the sign of Morgoth. There was no time to waste.

Next: Chapter 17: So It Begins


End file.
